Ghost of the Past
by neko-nya
Summary: After getting his dream home, Arthur Kirkland realizes that it's haunted by its previous owners who're trapped in a vicious cycle of life and death. Determined to break the cycle, he begins researching the family's history to find an unexpected surprise..
1. Prologue

Ghost of the Past

Prologue:

_April, 1883_

_The rain had finally stopped._

_Huddled against one of the many buildings nearby, he looked down at the younger boy next to him who was trying his best to stop his tears and shivering. He held back his own sobs and stood up with his fists clenched tightly with determination. He inhaled deeply and turned to the younger boy, "i-it's okay, Mattie, don't cry, I'm here! I'll take care of us! Let's go!"_

_His brother nodded obediently and followed him up, "O-okay, Alf."_

_Taking the boy's hand and led him away from their resting place, trying his best to ignore the discomfort of having wet clothes on. "Come on, if you're hungry, we'll go find something to eat."_

_Still crying silently, the other boy followed him obediently._

_They hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday when a kindly woman spared them a slice of bread off her plate. It scared him how weak his brother's grip was and he realized the severity of the situation despite how young they were at the time. They had no money, they had no experience stealing, and they'd been chased away from every store they'd approached. Rounding the corner, he felt the other boy tug on his hand, his pace staggering, "Alf...I don't feel so good, I'm tired..."_

_Panicking, he let his brother rest against a wall nearby and looked around, "it'll be alright, don't worry, Mattie! You stay right here, I'll be right back, okay? I'm just going to go get us food, okay? So make sure you stay right here and don't go anywhere!"_

_Breaking into a sprint, he ran down the street looking for an easy looking target. It didn't take long to spot an affluent looking blond accompanied by a brunet who appeared to be a butler who was carrying an umbrella and what appeared to be groceries in the other. The blond was laughing, his voice had a heavy French accent to it as he chatted away, "I can't wait to use these! They're such fresh ingredients! But really, to be able to buy these in Angleterre of all places! They eat nothing but scones here, these must've been imported! Who would've thought such treasures can be found here. And there's no need to give me your lecture on frugality, I know how much you spend on your own ingredients, mon ami."_

_He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and the adrenaline rushing through his blood. Taking aim, he took a deep breath before running and giving the brunet a hard shove. The man gave a yelp and dropped his goods while attempting to remain on his feet. Grabbing as much food as his arms could hold, he ignored the yells of both men and dashed back down the street as fast as he could, avoiding the angry, grabbing hands of the other men and women trying to assist the rich man._

* * *

_Francis exhaled deeply and swore through clenched teeth as he ran after the wet little boy who'd taken off with his ingredients. It wasn't so much the loss of food that he minded; the boy had only managed to grab the loaf of bread and a bell pepper in his little stunt. If the boy had asked, he would've gladly given him more than that. Actually, he wasn't sure why he was chasing the little blond down the street. Maybe it was his desperately defiant blue eyes or the way he managed to muster up the courage to do such a thing when it was clear that it wasn't something he was used to doing. Either way, he wanted to see where the boy was running off to._

_Finally rounding a corner, for a moment, he was afraid he'd lost the boy but then quickly spotted him kneeling in front of another blond who looked weak, more than weak, he looked like he was fading. The boy held his loot up and showed the other excitedly, "look Mattie, food! I got us actual food! Here," he ripped a piece of the bread and fed it to the other child, "eat it, okay? It's good!"_

'_Mattie' gave a weak smile and nodded, taking the chunk of bread into his mouth and attempted to chew, "y-yea, it's good, Alf..."_

_The thief nodded eagerly, "yea, it's tasty, right? So eat more, okay? You can have the whole thing! Here, open your mouth!"_

"_Thank you..."_

"_Don't thank me! Just eat, okay? Are you done? You didn't swallow the bread, you need to swallow it, Mattie! Come on, please eat!"_

_The boy's eyelids began drooping again, "Sorry, but I'm sleepy, Alf."_

_Soon, the child had been reduced to tears as he tried to keep the other boy conscious. Begging and pleading, the blond began shaking the other's shoulders, "d-don't sleep, Mattie! Eat! You need to eat! We're going to see the river tomorrow, remember? I won't take you unless you eat, o-okay? Mattie, please eat..you have to eat..."_

_His heart broke at the sight of the boy trying to get his brother to eat. _

"_Who would've thought such treasures could be found here," he muttered softly to himself as he approached the boys._

_The blond must've noticed him approaching because he turned around, tears rolling down his cheeks. He looked scared, of what though, he wasn't sure. __"M-mister, I'm sorry, I-I…Mattie won't eat! Please help him! Don't let Mattie…don't let Mattie…I don't want him to go where mummy went…"_

_Taking the boy into his arms, he smoothed the blonde's wet, greasy locks back to look into his eyes, "it's alright, mon cher, it's alright, I'm here now," moving, he picked the other boy up. The little blond felt weightless in his arms. Standing up, he offered his hand to the hiccupping child, "come along, we'll get 'Mattie' here into some dry clothes and we'll make him some soup. It'll be easier for him to swallow, alright? Do you know what kind of soup he likes? Oh don't cry, mon cher, it'll be alright, your Mattie will be alright."_

_Choking back a sob, the boy looked at him, "r-really? You pro-promise?"_

_He nodded, "oui, I promise. It's alright, I'll take care of him. I'll take care of both of you from now on."_

* * *

_August, 1888_

_Retying his hair and adjusting his bangs in the mirror by the door, he straightened the sleeves of his shirt and looked down at the child beside him, "I'll be back soon, mon cher, so be good. And Alfred, remember, let Mathieu sleep. The more sleep he gets, the sooner he'll get better, non?"_

_Blue eyes lit up and the boy gave an enthusiastic nod, "yea, then we can go play tag! Oh wait, Mattie's always too slow...we can go play hide and seek outside!"_

_The man laughed, "That's right, but make sure you stay inside the yard next time, poor Mathieu spent hours trying to find you last time. You're lucky Bella found you asleep in her tulip bed or who knows what would've happened," he chided lightly._

" _I would've been fine, papa! I'm a hero, remember?"_

"_Oui, oui, I remember very well. Anyways, I'm afraid I must be off or I won't be back in time for lunch." Leaning down, he planted a kiss on the boy's head, "make sure you behave now."_

"_Of course, papa," he smiled innocently, "do you think I'd be able to play outside-just in the yard, I promise! This way, I won't disturb Mattie and he'll be able to sleep as much as he wants!"_

_After a moment of consideration, the blond shook his head, "désolé, mon cher, I'm afraid I'm going to have to say no this time. You have to take care of your brother, non?"_

_Sulking slightly, the boy gave an exasperated sigh, "Fine, but only for today…until either Mattie gets better or till you get back, whichever happens first."_

"_That's a good boy. Je reviens dès que possible," the man smiled and left through the front door._

* * *

_March, 1898_

Strolling down the busy streets of London, Arthur Kirkland couldn't help but smile at the sight of stores and bustling crowds. Soon, he'd be living there, just as soon as he found his perfect house. The idea he had in his mind involved living a little closer to the outskirts of town though there had to be easy access to the inner city.

He loved London, everything was just so alive. Suddenly, he caught sight of a little boy no older than ten running off into an alley and blinked. The boy's clothing looked slightly out of place, though it was subtle, something about it was just too old...it might've been the best clothes money could buy once, over a decade ago, but it just looked off now. And the boy clearly appeared to be part of the higher end of the city; golden hair clean and gleaming, blue eyes free of sadness and disease.

He didn't know what random impulse made him do it, but he followed the boy down the alley. Turning corners and jogging down unknown and nameless streets, he continued following the figure that he assumed was the boy. Running out of breath, he wondered how much longer the boy was going to run on for. Then suddenly, he came to a clearing and gaped in awe.

Before him was a beautiful house, not large enough to be considered a mansion but still more than adequate for a comfortable lifestyle. And in front was a worn out 'For Sale' sign. Silently, he wondered how long the sign had been up, it'd been beaten down, most of the words had worn off and plenty of spiders had marked it as their own already. Looking around, he gave a start when he noticed the boy standing there, staring at the house with equal intensity as he had a moment ago. Walking up to him, he could now tell that the boy couldn't have been any older than ten years old. He asked the boy gently so as to not startle the child, "say lad, what might you be doing here?"

The boy blinked and spared him a momentary glance but remained silent.

Pursing his lips, he decided to make a wild guess, "do you want to go inside or something?"

The boy nodded.

He raised a brow, "Oh, then why don't you then? It's not like there's an owner and I'm sure you lads have your ways of getting into places like these."

The boy then shook his head and stared directly at him, "I can't. They're still mad at me..."

* * *

Nya~

Yay London during the Victorian Era (1837-1901)...the place generally couldn't be called anything close to a sanctuary for anyone outside the middle/higher class, especially for orphans and whatnot. But luckily, Mattie and Al won't be chimney sweeping or mill scavenging in this fic because...well because I love papa!France and well, I decided not too give them such miserable jobs. If you read about what orphans had to go through back in the 19th century, it's quite tragic if not horrifying. Yes well, anyhow, here's the first chapter! Family and supernatural make a strange combo when it comes to genres so I went with drama instead. And I'm sorry my summaries suck. I hate how there's a character limit on everything. Anyways, enjoy!

Translations:

_**Désolé - **_Sorry (Fr)_**  
Je reviens dès que possible**_ - I'll be back as soon as possible (Fr)


	2. Chapter 1

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 1:

_March, 1898_

The man who'd introduced himself as 'Mathias' nearly spat out his coffee and leapt out of his chair in disbelief at his question. "Hvad? Seriously? You want to buy _that _house?"

"Bror, you're making an annoying face again."

The teenager continued munching on his liquorice, "Ég skil ekki…"

He blinked, wondering several things at once. The first thing, he couldn't help wonder about why people from all over Northern Europe decided to gather here in front of him, the second was about why the man in front of him looked so shocked, "yes, why? Is there something wrong with it? I saw a 'For Sale' sign at the front of the house and contacted you."

"No, I mean, I'm just a little surprised, that's all, I mean, it hasn't been publicly advertised for years now and out of nowhere, you find it _and_ you want to buy it," the man was smiling though he kept rubbing the back of his neck while avoid eye contact for some reason. "Talk about uncanny…"

A little concerned now, Arthur frowned, "can you tell me a little more about the house."

"He's going to spill and scare the customer away…" the Norwegian muttered to himself as he watched the taller man fidget uncomfortably.

The teenager held the bowl out towards him, "salmíak?"

Shaking his head while masking his distaste for the snack, he politely declined, "no thank you, lad. So about that house, is there any reason I should be steering away from it? I haven't been inside yet but the exterior looks well-kept and the price is great, so what's the problem? Is it the interior?"

The Dane pursed his lips, "well, not exactly, the house's interior's perfectly fine. My friend, Tino designed it for this French guy a long time ago, and my other friend, Berwald was in charge of building it. They normally hang around here but they're out shopping and walking their dog or something with Peter today."

The shorter blond shoot the other a bored look, "Bror, that's irrelevant information."

The taller man cleared his throat, "Right, anyways, the only concern there is with that house is that about ten or so years back, there was this huge fire that burnt down quite a few houses around that neighbourhood-including half of the one you're interested in. Of course it's been rebuilt since then…"

Arthur shrugged, "that doesn't sound so bad-"

"But," the older man cut him off, "but that's not all. I'm really not obliged to tell you any of this, but the house's old occupants were burnt to death during that fire. And ever since then, people just seem to be repelled from the place. I mean, it might be haunted is what I'm getting at."

"Oh, he finally spilt."

"I still don't get it."

The Norwegian turned to the younger boy and patted him on the head, "don't worry about it. Bror's just being an idiot."

He paused before letting out a sigh of relief, "it _might _be haunted? That's it? That's not that big of a deal." Especially since he'd dealt with all sorts of supernatural beings before; hell, he'd even seen a unicorn once when he was younger. "If a couple possible ghosts are it, I'd be more than happy to stand by that offer I made earlier."

Mathias raised a brow at him for a second before nodding, "alright, you can't say I didn't warn you though. If you want to place that offer, the place is yours. It's not like there are other competitors for it at the moment. Just come back tomorrow to finalize everything then."

Dipping his head in agreement, he got up, "that sounds perfect. I'll be back tomorrow then," gathering his things, he was escorted to the door by the older pair.

The Dane waved goodbye to him with a grin on his face, "Tak, I'll see you tomorrow then. Farvel!"

As he left, he could hear them talking, "hn, you actually sold the ghost house, bror. Overall, the sale was okay but the salesman could've been better."

A laugh, "s'that so? Come on Nor, let's go back in before all the salmiak's gone. Anyways, there's no point in standing around here."

"It's _salmiakk_."

"Ja, that's what I said."

"Ja, but I know you said it with only one k."

"What are you talking about? It sounds exactly the same!"

* * *

_May, 1898_

After all the paperwork was done, he finally began the process of moving in. He'd looked around the city to see if he could spot that little boy who helped him find his new home again but it proved to be fruitless so he figured that the boy would show up again if he really wanted to.

Inspecting the interior of the house, he was pleased to see that everything was indeed, well-kept, as the Dane had told him. The kitchen was well equipped with a new gas stove and newly laid cupboards. Nodding to himself, he began transporting all his old furniture over his new house, since he didn't want to spend any more of the inheritance money he received from his aunt's death. However, because he was focussing all his attention on moving, he failed to notice anything strange happening around the house.

That is, until he finally finished organizing his furniture and decided to have a well-deserved cup of tea in his new study.

* * *

Giving a loud sigh, he practically threw himself onto his chair and groped around the little wooden stand beside him for his book. After nearly knocking over his cup of tea several times, he finally had the book in his hand. As he began reading, from upstairs, he could hear giggling and small footsteps running to and fro. He figured that some stray child had managed to sneak into his house, probably on a stupid dare to probe his manliness by venturing into the haunted house. Reluctantly getting up, he made his way up the stairs slowly, trying his best to accommodate his aching limbs. But once he reached the top, he couldn't find any traces of the children in any of the rooms.

"I must be going mad from all this moving, I really should go to bed earlier tonight," he told himself while pinching the bridge of his nose before heading back down.

* * *

_June, 1898_

Things didn't improve all that much over time.

He awoke to the smell of something delicious being made in the kitchen, and the sound of someone calling out something incoherent but was greeted with nothing when he made his way down the stairs. Furling his brows, he deduced logically that there couldn't have been anyone that he knew there. The smell of the food was unfamiliar to him, and even if his mother, who was the only person who'd ever made him breakfast, had decided to pay him a surprise visit by breaking into his house, she wouldn't have ran and hid the second she heard him coming. Not to mention the stove remained untouched with no evidence of recent usage.

After that incident, he decided to explore the house.

* * *

It wasn't hard to tell which parts of the building were new and which were old. The walls told more stories than any mouth could. Upstairs, running a hand over the walls where a mischievous child had once scribbled over it with crayon and paint and whatnot, so although all of the furniture had been moved or burnt, he could tell that he was in what used to be the playroom or the children's room if not both. It saddened him to think that children may have died in the fire but those sorts of things happened all the time.

Overall, there were five rooms upstairs minus the attic, and out of the four, the playroom was the only room that remained completely intact after the fire. The master's chamber which was connected to a private bathroom had been partially burnt so whoever restored the house rebuilt most of it and the third and fourth room and the bathroom were all new; he had no way of telling what used to be in those rooms. And downstairs, there was the library, the sitting room, the bathroom, the very large kitchen with a walk-in pantry, the dining area, the veranda which wrapped around half the house, and the parlour which still had a piano tucked away safely against the far wall. Of all those rooms, the kitchen and dining area, the veranda and part of the parlour were replaced.

Satisfied with his assessment of the house, he moved to back to the kitchen where he caught a waft of something delicious again, or so he thought. Annoyed, he vowed to not let any of the 'supernatural' activity around the house ruin his happiness. So, paying no further attention to the strange happenings around the place, he continued on with his own business.

* * *

_August, 1898_

That is, until one day, while walking home, he noticed a strange sight; a little boy running down the street and past him towards the house. Raising a brow, he shook his head at the familiarity of the situation and made his way home. But one he arrived, he found the boy standing there again. Walking up to him again, he crouched down, "you know, I bought this house, so if you're curious or you lost a ball in the yard somewhere or something, you can go inside and get it."

The boy merely blinked, blue eyes turning to him, "what? you bought the house?"

Arthur nodded, "That's right, lad. Is something wrong? I thought you wanted to go in."

The child returned the nod. There was a faint, hint of an accent in his English though he couldn't quite place his finger on what it was or where it came from. "I do."

Standing back up, he placed his hands at his hips and furled his brows, "then why don't you? I'm giving you permission if that's what you were waiting for."

The blond shook his head sullenly, "I can't, they're still upset…it was my fault…"

He arched a brow, "I'm afraid I don't understand, lad. Who's upset and what was your fault?"

The boy merely shook his head again.

"Never mind then," scratching the back of his head, he went to unlock the door but when he turned around, the boy had disappeared. He blinked, "odd…where did the lad go?" He looked around but found no trace of the boy.

It was only after that that he began taking more notice of all the strange things that were happening.

Well, in some ways, he didn't have much of a choice.

* * *

The next day, he was witness to yet another unexpected scene.

After a satisfying breakfast of partially burnt scones and tea, he was making his way up the stairs when he noticed that the front door was opened. Without a second thought, he moved to close it but stopped mid-step when he noticed a small figure standing there with one hand on the door frame and the other dangling by his side, staring outside. After taking a better look at the boy, he could feel his jaw slacken in disbelief.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

The boy was still there and he had an uncanny resemblance to the boy who'd been standing outside the day before. Hesitantly, he called out, "…hello?"

The blond didn't respond and merely continued staring sullenly out the door. After awhile, he gave a soft sigh, "Alf…"

Then suddenly, another voice was there, "ah, te voilà, mon cher…"

The boy turned around, staring straight past him with a sad look on his face. "Papa," he called out miserably, his voice naturally soft, and began walking towards a figure he hadn't noticed standing there before with his arms out, silently asking to be held. "Papa, where's Alf? He's okay, right?"

Taking a step back, Arthur watched as a blond man gently picked the child up, "it's alright, mon cher, it's alright. I'm sure he's doing just fine."

"Mais il me manques, papa."

"Je sais, mon petit, moi aussi. Allez, allons-y…"

And then he stared in shock as the pair literally disappeared down the hall.

* * *

Nya~

Another chapter! The weather here's PMSing, yesterday, you could've gotten blisters on your feet from walking outside without shoes, and then today, your toes could've fallen off from frostbite...ridiculous. And with this chapter, from my research, that's what a typical Victorian would've consisted of. A parlour, kitchen, pantry, a veranda/s, library, a possible sitting room and a lot of bedrooms upstairs and bathrooms. I'd go into more detail with descriptions and whatnot but that could take up a whole chapter and it's more fun to look at pictures, no? Anyways, I'll stop ranting about Victorian stuff since it's not actually something I'm all that familiar with though I'll probably be by the end of this fic. WW2 is still more of my forte...right, sorry, enough ranting. Of course please correct me if you find anything wrong with any of this. Love you readers and especially you reviewers! Merci beacoup! Hope you enjoy!

_**Translations:**_

_**Hvad? - **_What? (Dan)_**  
Bror **_- Brother (Nor)_**  
Ég skil ekki **_- I don't understand (Ice)_**  
Salmíak/salmiak/salmiakk **_- Salmiakki, salty liquorice (Ice/Dan/Nor)_**  
Tak - **_Thank you (Dan)_**  
Farvel**_ - Goodbye (Dan)_**  
Te voilà **_- Here you are (Fr)  
_**Mais il me manques **_- But I miss him (Fr)  
_**Je sais, mon petit, moi aussi **_- I know, my little one, me too (Fr)  
_**Allez, allons-y**_ - Come on, lets go (Fr)


	3. Chapter 2

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 2:

_October, 1898_

After that incident in August, Arthur decided to start keeping a written record on of any strange or supernatural activity that happened around the house. He kept track of all the laughter and footsteps, the random words of French that he didn't understand, the smell of freshly cooked food and all the figures and shadows that danced around the property.

It didn't take very long to identify the three key characters involved. There was a man and two boys. And though it might've been extremely obvious to anyone else, his observational skills were…limited, so he only managed to get very weak grasp at differentiating the children from each other. Most of the time, he just assumed it was Alfred.

'Alfred' was the louder of the two boys who often ran around laughing or yelling; an energetic boy all around. There'd been more than one instance where he leapt down a couple steps to make as loud of a sound as possible before laughing and running off down the hall again. He was the likely culprit behind the crayon and paint scribbles on the walls upstairs.

The second one was 'Mathieu' though more often than not, he heard 'Mattie' being yelled. Quiet and shy, Arthur rarely heard the boy be himself except for that one time at the door. He could hardly tell the boys apart let alone which was younger, it wasn't difficult to figure out that Alfred had been the leader while Mathieu quietly and contently followed.

And finally, there was the 'Papa' character. He was a French man who as far as he could tell, singlehandedly cared for the boys as he'd found no evidence of female residents or servants which he found strange. After all, they lived in Victorian England where marriages and families were the norm, and in a house as grand as his, given that he had the money to have the place design and built, there were bound to be servants-though he himself didn't have anyone assisting him at the moment, he was convinced that the Frenchman had help around the house. Aside from that, he could tell that the man was obviously skilled in the kitchen and was a caring paternal figure for the boys.

Most of the activities around the house, he found, were minor, nothing interactive, and nothing physical beyond doors opening and closing and occasionally, the taps turning on and off. After several weeks of recording in his journal, he began wondering if there was a point in keep track of the boys' random giggles and games of hide-and-seek. Then, one day, he heard the door closing as he sat in the kitchen, enjoying his late breakfast. Idly jotting down the occurrence in his notebook, he went on with his usual activities for awhile until suddenly; he could a feel a change in the atmosphere around him.

* * *

It was a low growl at first, but soon, he could smell smoke and hear flames eating away at houses and shattering the windows that stood in its way. Dashing down the stairs in alarm, he looked around but couldn't see or feel heat of any kind. Green eyes blinked as he stood by the doorway, dumbfounded.

By the door, thought the sound of the flames was deafening, he could tell that they hadn't reached the doorway yet. As he continued standing, suddenly the door flew open and incoherent yells were heard, the distinctive voice of the Frenchman and a child, he couldn't tell which it was. Footsteps stormed into the house, running up the stairs for a minute before rushing back down the stairs. The Frenchman was frantically calling out to someone, but he couldn't make out the name through the roaring of the fire.

With his attention was turned towards the 'Papa' and his calls. Following the man's voice into the kitchen which was also where the flames were the loudest. Once he entered the room, his eyes widened as he watched dancing flames licking away at everything. There was a cry of relief from the center of the room as he saw a figure standing there, shielding something in his arms the best he could.

The man's head turned and surveyed the scene only to realize that the flames had closed off every possible exit. The counters which lined the walls made it near impossible to get to the windows and part of the ceiling in the dining room collapsed, making it inaccessible. And the flames were simply too strong around the entrance to the parlour and the hall.

Taking a closer step towards the figure who was now coughing, he managed to catch a bit of his muttering. The man was comforting the bundle in his arms, holding it close. His French was too fast, too soft for him to decipher with his limited vocabulary.

So caught up in the situation, he gave a jump when he realized everything had gone back to normal. Blinking several times and looking around, he found himself standing in the middle of his kitchen, reaching for a figure that was no longer there. Knees buckling, he collapsed onto the floor, exhausted after witnessing such an event. Eyebrows furling, he decided to find out exactly what'd happened to the house's previous owners.

* * *

The next day, he returned to speak with the man who sold him the house.

"Hm? The house's previous owner? What about him?"

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "I suppose I was hoping you'd be able to provide me with information on him like his name and whatnot."

The Dane blinked and turned to the blond with the clip in his hair, "are we allowed to tell him these kinds of things? You don't think he went into the attic, do you?"

He raised a brow at this.

The other shrugged, "He might go _now,_ you're not discreet at all, bror."

The teenager frowned, "I don't understand, why don't you just tell him about the guy? He's not even around anymore."

"But…"

Suddenly, a voice spoke out from behind him, "'is name w's Fr'n's Bon'f'y."

He gave a start and turned around to see a tall man with glasses seemingly glaring at him, "s-sorry, I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that."

From behind, a shorter, less intimidating man appeared with an apologetic smile on his face, "he said Francis Bonnefoy." Turning to the taller man, he pointed down the hall, "Peter's looking for you, Berwald."

The man with glasses turned around and began walking away, "Hn? W's'wrong, Pet'r?"

Returning his attention to the English man, he continued, "Herra Bonnefoy hired me to design his house for him about ten years ago. Tino Väinämöinen," he introduced himself.

Thankful for the other's helpfulness, he shook the other man's hand, "Arthur Kirkland. So Francis Bonnefoy…" he pursed his lips, wondering why the name sounded so familiar, "what kind of person was he?"

Tino looked up in thought for a moment, "Herra Bonnefoy…well he was a very nice man and definitely well off. He had a really nice place in the middle of the city but he said he didn't want his children growing up in that area."

He perked up at the mention of the children, "Have you met the boys?"

The other blond blinked, "how did you know they were both boys?"

"I told you the house was haunted," the Dane called from the desk, "he probably saw them." He then began mumbling in Danish to himself, "det lille spøgelser…" he shuddered and made a face, "uhyggelig li-gah!"

"Snakker engelsk, bror," the Norwegian muttered, choking the other with his own tie.

"But what about you," the man rasped.

Tino laughed and waved at them dismissively, "don't mind them. They're always like this. And no, we never met the children personally. Was there anything else you'd like to know?"

Hesitantly, he shook his head, sparing a nervous glance at the man being strangled, "no…not really, that's all I wanted to know. Are you sure he's alright?"

The tallest man returned and shrugged, "s'okay, s'only Matthias."

Slowly backing up towards the door, he nodded politely, "Oh, alright then…thank you…have a nice day…"

* * *

When he returned home, he found the boy there again and let out a soft groan. He attempted to tap the boy on the shoulder but realized his finger passed through the boy instead. Immediately shrinking back, he hid his wariness and spoke, "Hi there, lad."

The boy turned to him with a familiar frown on his face, "hi, mister."

Taking in how casually the boy was interacting with him, a total stranger, he could only assume he was talking to Alfred. "Still can't get inside, hn," he asked conversationally.

"Nope," the boy's shoulders sagged dejectedly.

He decided to take a stab at the problem, "I believe Matthew and your papa are waiting for you though. They're worried about you."

Based on the other's reaction, he decided that he was right, that yes, it was Alfred he was talking to. Azure eyes widened in disbelief, "Mattie and papa? Really?"

Arthur nodded, inwardly pleased with the boy's reaction, "that's right, lad. So why don't you go inside?"

There was a pause, then the boy's excitement ebbed away as he began shaking his head, "I can't…" Simultaneously, he began fading away, "they're mad, they'll get mad at me…"

Left standing in front of his house by himself, he scratched his head in frustration, "what a stubborn boy!" Huffing indignantly, he marched into the house, muttering to himself, "I'll get to the bottom of this and stop all this silliness once and for all!"

* * *

Remembering what the Dane had said about the attic earlier, he decided to make his way to the top floor despite how horrifyingly creepy it was. But really, he shouldn't be afraid at all, he mentally scolded himself; after all, his parents had had him attend their strange occult rituals when he was but a boy. There was really no reason for him to be alarmed. Nothing could be worse than the things those adults had attempted to summon.

Opening the door at the top of the stairs, he swung the door open. Ignoring his pounding heart, he stepped inside and looked around only to find that it was being used as a storage area.

The place was covered in old furniture, things that had been saved from the fire but no longer had an owner. There were lined up in the corner and a couple desks next to it. Bookshelves lined the far wall though they were full of gaping holes where several books had been taken out and never returned. He suspected that everything of value had been auctioned off already which explained the lack of decorative pieces. He also noted with some annoyance that every piece of furniture was probably worth more than the ones he had downstairs.

The beds were made of the finest wood and the mattresses, though well used, maintained their springiness and softness. They probably had silk covers too, he thought darkly to himself. Inspecting the beds closer, he noticed that out of the three beds, one which was clearly the master's bed and the other two were children sized. It made sense. Given that the third and fourth room had been caught in the fire and had to be rebuilt, none of the furniture could've survived such an event.

But at the same time, one of the children's beds was clearly more worn out than the other. In his mind, he could see Alfred having fun turning the bed into a trampoline. For all he knew, the brothers could've been so close that they cuddled together under the same sheet instead of in separate beds. While pondering their sleeping arrangements, he realized that they could've easily gone to their father's room and crawled under his covers as well, something he could've never done with his parents.

Ignoring the sudden wave of nostalgia and loneliness, he moved onto the desk. The top was barren save the clear film of dust covering it, but once he opened the drawers, he discovered a whole new connection to the house's ghosts that he never knew existed.

In the first drawer there were written documents, most of them incomplete or trivial, but they were still there; physical proof of the previous family's existence. There were various things, letters neatly written and recipes of dishes he'd never seen or heard of before. He sifted through them, separating them into two piles; one for English documents and one for French and others.

"_**My Dearest Madame, **_

_**I am most pleased to hear that you have taken such an interest in my small, humble business. I have no doubt we will be able to find a suitable date to hold your upcoming event…"**_

He could practically hear the man's French accent in his head. It wasn't like he had anything against 'papa', but he'd grown up around adults who'd lived through several wars against France and generally had something akin to a grudge towards the French, and in order to fit in with other people of his social status, he'd learnt to adopt their attitude.

In the second drawer, there were toys and pictures drawn by the children. He took out all the dolls and little wooden figures to find books and even more toys. The pictures themselves were adorable. Mathieu was clearly fond of polar bears while Alfred liked drawing heroes. There were family portraits drawn by them, their captions partially written in French, partially in English.

And in the third, there were sepia toned photos. The one on top was of the family, happy and casual. In the middle, there was a man sitting in a chair with shoulder-length wavy hair and a slight amount of facial hair, not quite stubbles, but not quite a beard. He had a warm grin on his face as he held one of the boys and had his hand on the other's head. One boy was standing, probably after sliding off the man's lap in excitement; he was striking a pose and beaming brightly at the camera with a thumbs-up towards it. The other smiled timidly and had his arms wrapped around his father's neck, ready to turn and hide his face, and tucked under his arm was a crocheted toy whose beady eyes stared passively at the camera. It was strange seeing a still-life of the trio whose ghost he'd seen moving around as though they were still alive.

In his family portraits, the three of them always stood or sat with their backs straight. They would be staring seriously at the camera, waiting for the man to finish taking their picture. Their pictures were always _proper_.

The next photos contained other people he'd never seen before. Possibly servants or friends, he couldn't tell. Then there were photos of the family when they were younger, when the boys were smaller and the man had his hair tied up, his chin clear of any facial hair. And then as the photos grew older, they turned black and white. However, there were no pictures of the children past a certain point and no woman he could clearly identify as a wife. Confused, he couldn't help but wonder exactly where the children came from if they weren't the man's.

Near the bottom of the pile, there were pictures of the man opening the doors to a restaurant, possibly for the first time, which made his mind clicked. Bonnefoy, that's where he'd heard the name from; there was a famous restaurant in central London by that name.

He remembered going there once when he was younger. The place was a sensation, constantly packed with customers waiting to be fed, people continuously ordering seconds. Not that they could be blamed, the food was spectacular, it was like nothing he'd ever tasted before. He furled his brows as he tried to remember everything. The night he'd gone with his parents, his brothers had already moved out by then, the place was livelier than usual, some hype about some person being in which apparently was a rare occasion…

* * *

_June, 1884_

_He looked around the restaurant in awe. After getting past the chaos outside, the inside was perfectly orderly, with people seated and waiting patiently while waiters and servers went around doing their jobs. The chandeliers lit the place up brilliantly, even the furthest corners were free of shadows. Once they were seated, his mother did her best to mask her excitement, "now Arthur, dear, you should thank your father for bringing you here. We're very fortunate indeed, to be here tonight of all nights."_

_Emerald eyes blinked, "what's so special about tonight, mama?"_

"_Well you see, the owner is in tonight."_

"_The owner?"_

"_Yes, he only comes in once every week or so and he does so without notice. But when he's here, he's the head chef and he's in charge of everything. All the recipes in the menu were created by him so it's only natural that they taste better when made by him. Absolutely splendid is what his cooking is, heavenly almost."_

"_Now dear, contain yourself," his father chided lightly._

_It was strange listening to his mother praising a Frenchman of all people. It couldn't be __**that **__great. Sure, the service was excellent and their waiter was polite but that didn't mean the food would be equally immaculate. But once it came, those tiny, overpriced meals in oversized dishes, he took a bite and all his scepticism melted away. He cleared the dish within seconds and was eagerly awaiting more to arrive._

_When the night began drawing to a close and the last dish came, his father asked the waiter in an approving manner, "Please send my compliments to the chef."_

"_Of course, sir," the waiter bowed and retreated to the kitchen._

_Awhile later, a blond man in a chef hat and outfit, complete with a little red scarf tied around his neck, approached them. His blue eyes weary but still full of life. He'd probably approached them since they'd spent a fortune that night, ordering nothing but the finest dishes off the menu. "Bonsoir, madame," he kissed the back of his mother's hand, "et messieurs. I am Francis Bonnefoy. I trust the meal was to your satisfaction?"_

_His mother nearly gushed, "It was perfect, really. The most delightful meal I've ever had." Watching the way she behaved around the chef, she seemed so normal, he could hardly tell she was the type to have a demon-summoning habit._

_The Frenchman smiled almost flirtatiously, "you flatter me, madame."_

_His father gave that approving nod again, "no, she's quite right. It was absolutely scrumptious."_

"_Merci beaucoup, monsieur. And you," the man was looking at him now, "I hope you liked the meal?"_

_He immediately dipped his head politely, "yes mister, it was really good."_

_At this, the chef grinned proudly to himself; his tone was chipper as he spoke, "excellent! Did you know? I actually have two little boys around your age," he paused in thought then corrected himself, "maybe a little younger. But tell you what, I'll go make you a little dessert that I only make at home. It's something they absolutely love, and you can be the first customer to try it."_

_As a child, he couldn't help but light up, "really?"_

_The man nodded, "oui, compliments of the chef."_

"_Arthur, thank Mr. Bonnefoy" was his father's immediate response._

_He couldn't help but like the man for giving him free dessert; even if he __**was **__French. "Thank you very much, mister!"_

_The Frenchman was chuckling good-naturedly as he left, "je vous en prie."_

_

* * *

_

_October, 1898_

He blinked, swallowing the saliva that'd collected in his mouth from his fond, fond memories. "…what do you know? I've met the man before…ah, that food was really good…" He shook the thoughts out of his head and wiped the bit of drool that'd escaped his lips. Opening the bottom drawer, he found that it was stuffed full of cards from customers. Not as interested in the cards, he returned to the second drawer's contents.

Sorting through the children's things, he came upon a hand drawn map of the neighbourhood which names corresponding to houses. He smiled to himself, "everyone around this neighbourhood must've known these rascals…"

On the map, one particular house caught his attention. It was the house with the most detail drawn in and had hearts floating around it. The front of the house had flowerbeds, possibly tulips, and there were two people standing in front. One was a woman with shoulder length hair and a hair band of some sort in her hair and a smile on her lips, and the word 'Bella' was floating around over her head. The other was a tall man with spikes for hair, a scratch on his head and a neutral line for a mouth. He also had a stick in his hand, a scarf around his neck and had been labelled 'Lars'. Of course, he had no idea how accurate a child's drawing could be, but he figured if he walked down the street and if they were still living there, he would be sure to recognize the flowerbeds.

He wasn't exactly sure what he'd be asking them, but at least he had a place to start his investigation now…

* * *

Nya~

The investigation begins! Sepia toning began in the 1880s and before that, photos were mostly monochrome. What else? Napoleon III's reign ended in 1870 when he was captured in the the Battle of Sedan though he didn't die until 1873 while in exile in England. He was apart of all sorts of things like the American Civil War (though officially neutral), the Austro-Prussian war which was then followed by the Franco-Prussian war. So yea, England and France fought a lot during his reign. I am a history buff. Anyways, please correct me on anything I may have gotten wrong and thank you readers! Love you reviewers! Enjoy!

Translations:

**_Herra_** - Mr. (Fin)  
_**Det lille spøgelser **_- The little ghosts (Dan)  
**_Uhyggelig_** - Creepy (Dan)  
_**Snakker engelsk **_- Speak English (Nor)  
**_Bonsoir_** - Good evening (Fr)  
_**Je vous en prie **_- You're welcome (Fr)


	4. Chapter 3

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 3:

_November, 1898_

The next day, he spent the morning dusting and sorting out the attic. And when he descended down the stairs, somehow, he wasn't surprised in the least at what happened next. At the door, a little boy stood there, staring outside longingly as always, "Alf…"

He raised a brow and called out to the boy, using his name this time, "Matthew?"

The boy didn't show any sign of acknowledgment. Then came the Frenchman again with that gentle look on his face, "ah, te voilà, mon cher…"

Arthur frowned. The dialogue sounded all too familiar to him.

Mathieu made his way over to his father, "Papa…Papa, where's Alf? He's okay, right?"

The man picked him up, "it's alright, mon cher, it's alright. I'm sure he's doing just fine."

Near tears, the boy pulled himself closer to the blond, "Mais, il me manques, papa."

"Je sais, mon petit, moi aussi. Allez, allons-y…" But this time he followed them down the hall, managing to catch a few more words this time, "as-tu trouvé ton ours ?"

"Kuma…Kuma…"

"Kumajiro, mon cher. L'as-tu trouvé ?"

The boy shook his head, "non…do you think he's scared, papa? He's all alone..."

"Non, he's a big bear, he can fend for himself. But how about we go look…" he couldn't hear the rest of it as they disappeared again.

Flabbergasted, all he could wonder as he walked towards the kitchen for brunch was why he couldn't interact with the pair. He had no problem striking up a conversation, a short one but a conversation nonetheless, with Alfred outside. Those two spoke the same words and did the same movement time and time again. He found it strange, no, he found it _frustrating_ that they couldn't see or hear him.

* * *

Inside the kitchen, he prepared his brunch while entertaining the fleeting notion that the Frenchman would've had a breakdown if he saw what'd become of his kitchen and the things that were being created in it. Even after all these years, his scones still turned out a little on the burnt side if not the unrecognizable side. Sure, they were edible, but they weren't much in comparison to what he'd eaten that night so many years ago.

Realizing that his contemplation wasn't going to lead him anywhere, he finished up his food and washed the dishes. Once he finished all that, he decided to make his way outside, certain that nothing important would manifest itself while he was gone.

* * *

Making his way down the street, Arthur looked from side to side; anxious to get study every house he came across. He noted that most of the flowers had wilted or disappeared as it was approaching winter and wondered how he was supposed to find a flowerbed of tulips when they weren't blooming. Suddenly, down the street, he noticed a man with a scarf around his neck crouching in his garden, clearly busy with something. Blinking, he approached him slowly only to hear him call out, "hey zus, do you know where I put the bulbs?"

A feminine voice replied from inside the house, "They're in here! You forgot to take them with you when you went outside!"

"Oh," he got up and brushed the dirt off hands and wandered inside for a moment, "dank je."

"Graag gedaan. But really broer, you're getting really forgetful, perhaps it's your age getting to you?"

"Hey, I'm not that old yet. But you know, it'll happen to the best of us," the man muttered and returned outside. He was about to get back to work when he spotted him, "yes? Can I help you?"

He wasn't sure why he gave a jump at the question but quickly stammered, "o-oh, excuse me, I just moved in down the street over there and…"

The man raised a brow, "you moved into the Bonnefoy house? Isn't that place haunted or something?"

Upon closer inspection, the man had spiky golden hair and a small scar on his forehead. So the drawing _was _quite accurate after all… "Yes, I'm afraid it is." There was an awkward pause then he quickly changed the subject, "are those tulips you're planting?"

The Dutchman who he'd now identified as 'Lars' nodded, "ja, plant them now and they'll be in bloom when springtime comes."

He couldn't help but let out a soft sigh of relief, he definitely had the right house.

He tried his best to sound as least socially awkward as he possibly could though conversation had never been his forte. "If you don't mind me asking, did you know the Bonnefoy family? I understand that the boys were quite fond of your house."

It was a bluff but the other man didn't have to know that.

Lars shrugged, "I guess you could put it that way. Why are you asking?"

"I'm writing a biography on Francis Bonnefoy" was the only lie he could think of off the top of his head. He could've told the truth but somehow _'I'm investigating them so see what kind of life the ghosts that are haunting my house lived. Oh, and I'm hoping that the information you give me might somehow help me send them off to the next world, that's all'_ didn't sound very convincing, or sane for that matter, in his head. Luckily, he brought his notebook along with him which made his lie more believable.

"Oh," was all the other man said before pausing in his work to call to the lady inside, "Hey Bell, we have company."

"Who is it?"

"Some guy who's writing about Francis and the kids."

"What? Um, alright," a moment later, a woman appeared at the door. She was a bit older than him but by no more than five years, max. With her ribbon headband tied neatly, and their tails dangling behind her, she greeted him warmly, "hello, why don't you come inside? I'm Bella and this is my older brother Lars."

"Arthur Kirkland," he introduced himself.

He shot a glance at the man who waved offhandedly and returned to his work. "I'll join you guys in a few minutes; just have to finish this first."

* * *

Once inside, she led him to the sitting room where he sat and watched as the blonde shuffled into the kitchen while her brother continued working in the yard. She put the kettle on the stove and called out, "Would you like tea or coffee?"

"A cup of tea please, if it's not too much trouble."

Returning with a tray, she placed his cup and saucer down on the wooden table along with a plate of biscuits, "here you are, feel free to help yourself to these biscuits. It's from a recipe I learnt from Monsieur Bonnefoy a long time ago."

Without a second thought, he began nibbling on one. He had to mentally stop himself from stuffing the whole thing into his mouth and the immediately grab for a second one. "These are amazing! Are you a cook or something?"

Bella laughed and shook her head, "No, I'm afraid I don't work, never really had to, actually. There's another one of us, actually, but Lux is off on an adventure somewhere-never comes home anymore...what a family we are, right? Anyways, we came into quite a bit of money after our parents passed away a few years back. I stayed here with Lars while he took over vader's trading company…I think he may have also done business with the Chinese before but I'm not too sure."

He figured she was talking about opium dens and changed the subject, "I see…so, you knew Francis Bonnefoy personally?"

The woman nodded, "yes, we were good friends. When they moved in, his boys used to run all over the place and our tulip beds were one of their favourite places to hide and sleep in. Monsieur Bonnefoy used to come in for tea when he came to collect the boys. You see, not very many people around here speak French so when he found out I spoke the language…well, I suppose he was a bit homesick and having a French-speaking neighbour helped."

Arthur blinked, "only you speak French? What about your brother?"

"Broer was usually outside keeping the boys company. Anyways, he was born in the Netherlands and then our family moved to Belgium when rumours of the Austro-Prussian war began spreading, which is where I was born. We didn't live there for very long but I learnt French while we were there. Broer picked up some French in Belgium but he mostly spoke Dutch, especially to our parents."

He was on his third biscuit by then. "Wow, you've moved around quite a bit, haven't you? So what'd you and Mr. Bonnefoy talk about? What kind of person was he?"

Bella gave a shrug, probably something she picked up from her brother. "Monsieur Bonnefoy was outgoing. He was definitely a charming man and quite a flirt though I don't think he was ever serious about it. He flirted with everyone, even broer…maybe it's just a French thing or maybe a Bonnefoy thing, I'll never know. We never really talked about anything in particular. Food, art, fashion, business…oh, he really liked describing Paris to me. He went back a lot with the boys and then once they got back, they'd always showed up with gifts…"

* * *

_February, 1885_

_There was a knock at the door._

_Lars put his rabbit down, frowned and stood up. With his pipe dangling from his lips, he rolled up his sleeves and made his way to the door, "I swear, it better not be Antonio or I'll…" the words died on his lips once he opened the door and two little blondes attached themselves to his legs, giggling excitedly. They both only had a glove on one of their hands for some reason._

_At the door, the Frenchman was laughing and holding onto Mathieu's crocheted toy, "Alfred, Mathieu, let go of Lars now. Désolé, they insisted on coming here to deliver gifts. Now which of you has Lars' gift?"_

_One of the boys raised an ungloved hand eagerly, "I do!" _

_Though he still had some trouble telling one boy from the other from time to time, he could tell now; that one was clearly Mathieu. Any irritation he felt earlier dissipated as he crouched down, "hm? You got me something?"_

_The boys nodded enthusiastically as he held the gift up, "oui! M-me and Alf got it for you in Paris! Here!"_

"_Yea! Me and Mattie got it for you in Paris," Alfred echoed happily._

_He chuckled as he let the boy wrap the scarf around his neck, "Pari, huh? So that's where you two have been." He'd never tell but he snuck a glance out the window every day, expecting to see the shapes of two little boys rolling around in their garden._

_From inside, Bella appeared to see what all the ruckus was about. The Frenchman smiled and ushered his other son along, "bonsoir. Alfred, are you going to give Bella her gift?"_

_Alfred perked up and left his brother's side to jump up and down excitedly in front of the woman, "guess what? We went to Paris! And we bought you a gift! It's super awesome and Lovi's going to get __**so **__jealous because you're going to love it so, so, __**so**__ much that you'll never take it off and stuff, right, Mattie?"_

_The more soft-spoken boy dipped his head in agreement, "yea!"_

"_Here!" He held up a red ribbon headband, "isn't it pretty? It's made of soie, right, papa?"_

_Francis nodded, "c'est ça."_

_Bella smiled and accepted the gift, "really now, silk? Wow…it's so soft. Merci beaucoup, boys. I'll put it on right now."_

_Mathieu looked over at them, "d-do you like the gifts?"_

"_Yes we do, very much! These are the loveliest gifts we've ever received, right, broer?"_

_Placing his pipe back in his mouth, Lars stood up with only the slightest hint of a grin on his lips, "ja. Dank je wel. You boys saved me a lot of trouble, it gets pretty cold here in the winter, you know? Guess I won't have to worry about that anymore." _

_The boys ran back to their father's side, ungloved hand in ungloved hand, beaming proudly at him, "they liked our gifts, papa!"_

"_Yea," the younger boy chimed in before letting out a yawn, his excitement wearing off._

"_That's right, and you should be very pleased with yourselves for picking out such wonderful presents." Francis leaned down and picked the yawning boy up, returning his toy to him. "Well, you've both had a long day and it's getting late. You two have really worn yourselves out, mes chers. We should probably be going home now, non? Alfred, are you tired or do you want to walk?"_

"_Ça va. Je peux marcher, papa," Alfred mumbled tiredly while rubbing his eyes with one hand and holding onto the Frenchman's hand with the other._

"_Bon, say goodnight to Bella and Lars then."_

_The boys waved at them obediently, "good night!"_

_Bella waved back, "bonne nuit, merci pour les cadeaux."_

_The Dutchman ruffled Alfred's hair, earning him a sleepy grin, "see you around."_

_Francis nodded his goodbye and took his leave, "bonne nuit."_

* * *

_November, 1898_

Fingers playing with the tail of her headband, she had a melancholic frown on her lips, "those boys were such sweethearts. I remember when they used to come into our garden…if we were gardening, they'd watch and help us, if we weren't there, they'd sleep in the flowerbed. They always cheered us up…that was around when me and broer were having our argument as well."

Arthur blinked and reached for another biscuit only to realize that he'd eaten the whole plate. Embarrassed, he shrunk back and hoped that the woman didn't notice, "oh? Argument?"

She nodded, "ja, at that time I was engaged to Antonio but broer didn't approve of it."

"It was the biggest mess I've ever seen," the Dutchman spoke as he returned, unwrapping the scarf around his neck and hanging it on a coat hook by the door. He paused to take a smoke from his pipe before continuing, "You wanted that bastard, that bastard was too busy taking care of that kid and that kid had the biggest crush on you."

"Well we didn't get married in the end," Bella muttered darkly. "I'll probably never get married now…"

Another drag, "I'm sure you'll still be able to find someone better. You're not _that _old yet."

"Broer…"

He cleared his throat sheepishly, "d-did this Antonio person know Mr. Bonnefoy?"

The siblings paused and turned back to him, "yes. He was one of Monsieur Bonnefoy's best friends I believe. If you want to talk to him, I can write down his address for you. It's not too far from here."

Arthur nodded, "thank you, that'd be much appreciated… And do you know when the fire was?"

Lars raised a brow, "31st of August, 1888. You're writing a biography about Francis and you don't know when he died?"

He'd forgotten about his lie for a minute there. Quickly recovering, he shook his head, "I have to double check all my dates in case my sources are off." Not wanting to risk asking anymore possibly suspicious questions, he decided those could wait for the next person he interview or if worse came to worse, he could always return. "Where you there when their house…?"

The man looked a little reluctant to answer but nodded, "yea…we were there…"

* * *

_August, 1888_

_She was playing with her brother's rabbit when the door opened, "Bell!"_

_His tone had been enough. Racing outside, she saw him racing down the street towards the smoke. Eyes widening, she sprinted towards the house. Once she got there, she clung onto her brother as he pushed his way through the large crowd that'd gathered at the scene. At the front, she turned behind, "how did this happen?"_

"_There was an explosion and a fire. It spread down the street."_

"_Don't get too close now, you could get hurt."_

"_The fire brigade is on its way."_

"_They'll never be able to stop a fire this big!"_

_Lars frowned, "was there anyone inside this house?"_

"_Oh dear, that's right, that man ran inside. I hope he's alright!"_

"_No one's come back out yet and it's been burning for awhile now."_

_She could tell he was going to run in while half the house was burning and held him back by his arm, terrified of losing him to the fiery inferno, "broer, you can't go in there!"_

_He looked back with a frown, _"_b__ut you heard what that woman said!"_

"_M-maybe they went out the back! Broer, what if you get hurt?"_

"_But they're-" the sound of roaring flames was momentarily blocked out as part of the roof collapsed. The two of them stood and stared in horror as the flames continued to eat away at the walls and the smoke continued to rise until the entire fire brigade arrived in their horse drawn fire engines. _

_After what felt like forever, the fire finally died off, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. As the crowd scattered, the two of them remained, awaiting someone to tell them something, anything. Finally, a brunet with thicker brows and a small piece of bandage over his nose approached them, "do you two live here, mate?"_

_Bella opened her mouth but no words came out. "No," her brother answered for her, a comforting arm around her shoulder, "but we know the people that live here."_

_The fireman took his helmet off and held it against his chest, "oh…well, I'm very sorry to tell you this but if they're not out already, chances are, they're loss to us now. We're looking for the bodies now so…"_

_She turned away, not wanting to hear more, but Lars continued, "How did this happen?"_

"_Either a gas pipe ruptured or maybe someone left their stove on, we can't really tell. I'm very sorry for your loss," the man muttered before heading back to work._

_Once the man was gone, he piggybacked her as she cried and headed back home. Setting her down onto the couch, he crouched in front of her and brushed her hair out of her eyes and spoke quietly; all their arguments and fights forgotten. "Het is oké, Bella…het is oké…"_

_But as he knelt there, he could feel memories rising out of nowhere…of the blondes clinging to his legs as he walked, of them playing in the dirt and helping him water the plants. He shook his head and cleared his mind of those thoughts. As an older brother, he didn't allow himself to cry or shake, he had a crying sister in front of him and that took priority. _

"_Broer…" she leaned forward and hugged him as tightly as she could, crying in an incoherent mixture of English, French and Dutch. And he just kneeled there, soothing her hair and muttering the few phrases of comfort he knew until she exhausted herself and fell asleep._

* * *

_November, 1898_

Noting their sullen expression, he looked at the address the woman had given him, _Antonio Fernandez Carriedo._ Not wanting to ruin the siblings' moods further, he got up, "I suppose I should get going. Thank you for your time and I'm sorry if I've stirred up bad memories."

Bella shook her head, "it's fine, it was a long time ago. Please, if you have time, come for tea again. I see you liked the biscuits."

His face reddened, "y-yes, well, they were delicious."

She smiled, "it's only natural, I _was _taught by the best chef in London."

"Actually, if you wouldn't mind, I have several documents by Mr. Bonnefoy but they're in French, you see. I was wondering if you could perhaps translate them for me-if it's not too much trouble of course."

"I wouldn't mind, not at all. Just bring them with you the next time you come. I'll have more biscuits ready for you."

"Ah, thank you…I guess I'll see you next time. Have a nice day."

"You too," the woman called out to him as her brother escorted him to the door.

A little nervous around the taller man, he glanced up at the other's stoic face; in his mind, he couldn't see the laughing man Bella mentioned. "Thank you for your hospitality…"

Lars shrugged and took a drag from his pipe.

Eyebrows furling slightly, he tried again, "uh…that scarf you had on earlier, was that…?"

"Hm?" The blonde's eye drifted over to the apparel before a small smile made its way to his lips, "ja, that was a gift from Al and Mattie when they went to _Pari_…they used to help us in the garden and then I'd give them flowers to take home to Francis…they were good kids…but that was a long time ago," he finished off, his blank expression back in place. He opened the door for him and muttered, "See you around then."

He nodded and took his leave, "yes, thank you, goodbye."

"By the way, if you're looking for more information on Francis, you might want to look in the newspaper. The Times or Morning Post or Morning Herald, those should give you something to work with," the Dutch listed off.

A little surprised at the man's helpfulness, he smiled, "I'll definitely look into it. Thank you!"

* * *

Walking down the street, he tried to imagine Lars running towards the burning building, distress written clearly on his face, or Bella, fearful for her brother's life as she held him back. He didn't want to think about the bodies the firemen found when they uncovered the bodies in the kitchen. Two little boys and their father… He shuddered and hurried home.

* * *

Once in his kitchen, he noticed that the family portrait was sitting on the table. "Odd, I could've sworn I had it in the briefcase with me…" Picking it up, he studied their smiling faces and sighed, wondering what it would've been like to have met them in real life. A moment later, he couldn't help but worry over why there still around. Shaking those thoughts aside, he frowned and scoffed to himself, "no, I'm not doing this because I'm worried for the ghosts, I'm doing all this for myself, it's so that they'll leave and then I'll get the house to myself. That's right You heard me you frog," he called out to the ghost. A little flustered at his outburst, he stormed off to find something else to do.

* * *

Nya~

Yes, this chapter ends with Arthur's amazingly tsundere attitude (towards a French!ghost)! Can you guess who the fireman was? I love papa!Francis and kids!Mattie and Al to pieces, but maybe that's just me. I also really like Lars and his pipe for reasons I can't explain... You know, somehow, this chapter didn't seem that long while I was typing but then now that I look at it...it sort of is. Hope you all like long chapters. And I'm super sorry if my Dutch is off/completely wrong! And my French too, though I have more confidence in my French than Dutch...but still, corrections are always appreciated. Anyways, I'll leave off here! Thank you readers! Love you reviewers! Enjoy!

**_Translations_**:

_**Zus - **_Sis (Dut)  
_**Broer - **_Brother (Dut)  
_**As-tu trouvé ton ours ? - **_Have you found your bear? (Fr)  
_**Dank je wel -**_ Thank you very much (Dut)  
_**Graag gedaan - **_You're welcome (Dut)  
_**Soie - **_Silk (Fr)  
_**C'est ça - **_That's right (Fr)  
_**Ça va - **_It's okay (Fr)  
_**Je peux marcher - **_I can walk (Fr)  
_**Merci pour les cadeaux - **_Thanks for the gifts (Fr)  
_**Het is oké - **_It's okay (Dut)


	5. Chapter 4

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 4:

_November, 1898_

He found himself busy for the next few days dealing with all sorts of family and legal issues concerning the will of his late, wealthy aunt and whatnot. But luckily, it didn't take too long to sort out and he was back on his investigation by Saturday.

He set off immediately after breakfast.

Antonio's house was only a short carriage ride away from his home; however, he wasn't in when he arrived at the house. So shrugging it off, he hopped back onto the carriage and made his way down to central London. Handing the coach two shillings, he got off and with practiced ease, manoeuvred through the crowd towards his destination.

* * *

On the way, he heard a voice with the faintest of accents coming out as it rang through the streets, "Get today's Morning Chronicle! Times! Post! Who's for today's paper? Exciting news for the world of London today, come and get your news now!" Deciding that it was on the way, he bought the morning newspaper off the boy with light brown hair, bright green eyes and an interesting bang that curled up. The brunet shot him a cheery grin, "thanks mista!"

From the other side of the street, a little brunette called out to him, "Sebo, when will you be done today? Peter's out and Daddy says I have to be home for lunch so if we're going to play, it has to be soon!"

'Sebo' looked over and waved at the girl before handing a woman her newspaper with a wink, "thank you! You know, it makes my job _that_ much better when I get to see pretty ladies like yourself, ma'am!" The woman left with a giggle, commenting on what a charmer the boy was going to grow up to be. The boy on the other hand, turned back to his friend, "Mornin' Wy! I'll be done when I sell all my papers! Does your pa want a Times? Or a Post?"

"I don't know, I'll go ask him," the girl replied and disappeared into the crowd.

Paying no further attention to the newsboy, he continued his way down the street with his newspaper in his hands, trying his best to read and walk at the same time without being a nuisance to others. Scanning through the paper, he didn't find anything particularly interesting. The typical fires, advertisements, wills and bequests were all printed in there as usual...

_**Floral Bell Fragrant Elixer or Liquid Dentifrice for just 2 Shillings and Sixpence!**_

He continued idly flipping through the ads until he reached his destination. Looking up at the newspaper office, he took a step inside and could hear typewriters going off and people yelling. Clearly not a morning person, the secretary pointed out the head office, 'Mr. Adnan's office', to him with a scowl. Not bothering to give his thanks, he trudged over to the room where he could clearly hear a man yelling through the door, "Heracles, what the hell is this?"

"It's important …stupid, stupid Sadik."

"Hey, just because I raised you doesn't mean I can't fire you if I wanted to! I'm still your boss!"

"But you never complain about Gupta's work…that's…not fair!"

"What are you talking about? I'm talking about the cats! Stop bringing all these strays in here!"

"Oh, that…it's not my fault…they…follow me…stupid Sadik. You want to fight…?"

"Why do you constantly insist on fighting me in the office? I'll teach you who's boss when we get home-agh, just get back to work! And stop bringing in stray cats!"

The door opened and a sleepy but disgruntle looking brunet, "stupid Sadik…stupid, stupid, stupid Sadik…"

Raising a brow, he stepped into the office, "Mr. Adnan?"

The man turned around with a smile, "yes?" He was a tall Mediterranean man with his hair combed back and slight stubble on his chin. "How may I help you today," he asked, digging out a flash from his coat pocket.

"Arthur Kirkland." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "I was just…" pause, "are you drinking alcohol in the middle of the day?"

The brunet stopped mid-action and stared at him incredulously before bursting into laughter, "oh, no, absolutely not! This isn't what it looks like at all! This is apple juice. Here, you can take a whiff if you don't believe me."

He shook his head and shrunk away at the offer, "no, that's alright, thank you. I came here to ask if you had an archive of newspapers you've printed in the past."

"Hm? Of course, it's a bit of a mess but we have a copy of everything we've printed thus far somewhere downstairs. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

Pausing, he wondered if everything was supposed to be that casual. What if he was sent from a rival company? Didn't the man care at all? "You're letting me go down on my own?"

Sadik shrugged, "there's only old newspaper down there unless you're talking about help. If you need help, I can send someone down with you. What is it you're looking for anyways?"

"I'm looking for articles regarding a man named Francis Bonnefoy."

The man raised a brow, "Bonnefoy? You mean _the _Bonnefoy? He was pretty famous around here…before he died anyways. It's a shame, really, that man could really cook. If you're looking for Bonnefoy, I'd suggest you start at 1882 and make your way up to 1888. He really was something, that Francis."

Arthur blinked, "You knew him?"

"Francis? Oh yea, he used to live not too far from here, even had lunch with him every now and then to complain about the hardships of being a father and whatnot."

"Father? Was he a good father?"

The brunet nodded, "I'd say so. His boys adored him, not that I could tell them apart. Francis never had any troubles though, don't know how he managed. And they always wore the latest thing sent in from Paris too-practically identical if you ask me." He let out a sigh, "between you and me, normally I don't like all these people we write about, these aristocrats and royals they're just born with money. Call me bitter but I don't like it. But Francis, he actually worked for his money like everyone else here. He had talent and put it to good use. So we got along just fine, it's a shame he isn't around anymore. Look, I have to get back to work so you're on your own. Just go through that door to the left there and you'll find the storage room. If you're lucky, the piles down there might be labelled. Just holler if you need help. I'd tell you to not make a mess down there but I doubt I'd be able to tell the difference."

He nodded, "alright, thank you very much."

* * *

Once down the stairs, he realized that the man was right. The place was a nightmare. Trudging his way through the papers scattered on the ground, he broke through to a bit of a clearing in the narrow room. The newspapers were stacked into neat piles according to month and year. Smiling to himself, he squatted down to inspect the pile by his feet in the dimly lit room. Luckily, there was a small gas lamp on a desk next to a chair where he assumed people either read or slept in. Lighting the lamp, he continued his inspection until he found the year he'd been looking for.

Setting the pile close to his feet, he sat down in the chair and began looking through them one issue at a time. Luckily, they issues only came out weekly otherwise it probably would've taken him at least a week to go through 6 years worth of news. After awhile, he stumbled across what he was looking for in an issue from March. It came right after extensive news of the royals' visit to somewhere or rather.

* * *

_**Saturday, March 11, 1882**_

_**Francis Bonnefoy comes to London**_

_**Known throughout all of Europe as a culinary genius, Francis Bonnefoy of Paris arrived in London yesterday afternoon. With his new restaurant already built, he appeared eager to start his new business. Offering a charming smile to all those who had gathered at the station, awaiting his arrival, Mr. Bonnefoy was then immediately escorted into a personal carriage and left for his new home. The crowd remained for several minutes after Mr. Bonnefoy's departure to excitedly chatter amongst themselves.**_

* * *

Arthur scoffed. Why did they bother making such a big deal out of nothing? They even drew a picture of the scene where _Mr. Bonnefoy _offered his _charming _smile and about half the women in the station swooned at the sight. It was absolutely ridiculous.

He didn't like it. While the news articles intrigued him to a certain point, they also made everything too real for him. Sure, he knew faeries and unicorns were real, but ghosts? It'd never truly occurred to him that the spirits of his house's previous owners were actually human once even though he'd met the Frenchman on one occasion and he'd heard the anecdotes from his neighbours.

Trying his best to remain unimpressed, he grabbed the next issue, then the next, then the next. There wasn't anything important. Whenever the French ghost was mentioned, it was only to talk about how the royal and other nobles hosted their parties and dinners at his restaurant where it was, of course, catered by him. And they talked about what a wonderful cook he was, and how he was the life of the party when he attended balls and other festivities, able to charm even the coldest of women. Once he was through with that pile, he carefully restacked the pile and returned it to where he'd originally found it to move onto the next one.

The Frenchman's frivolous life continued until April.

* * *

_**Saturday, April 21, 1883**_

_**Francis Bonnefoy seen with Children**_

_**Throughout the past week, Mr. Francis Bonnefoy has been seen with two boys in tow. He has declined all invitations to gatherings and balls on accounts of his 'personal affairs'. No one knows where the children came from though it is suspected that they are either illegitimate children or orphans off the street. Mr. Bonnefoy has refused all interviews and the like.**_

* * *

He could figure out why they liked drawing the man so much. The article was brief and vague but there was another portrait of the Frenchman walking down the street, holding onto the boys' hands and laughing at something. Of course, he had no idea how accurate the drawing was but he did recognize the children. They even drew in Mathieu's crocheted doll.

There wasn't much news of them until November, when there was a short article on how Bonnefoy family decided to move away from central London. No reasons were stated and for once, no portraits were drawn. He found it curious.

Arthur continued reading through the articles, each less informative than the last. He went through the 1883 pile quickly, then the 1884 one, then the 1885 one…when he reached July of 1886, he found one that caught his attention.

* * *

_**Saturday, July 3, 1886**_

_**The Bonnefoy boys dine with nobility**_

_**After refusing to personally cater to a festive gathering of the Duke of Westminster, Mr. Francis Bonnefoy rejected the handsome price the Duke was offering in order to spend time with his sons on their birthdays. However, determined to have Mr. Bonnefoy present at his ball, the Duke extended invitations to the boys, Alfred and Mathieu as well. And so, the Bonnefoy family spent their evening with the nobles of London. It was witnessed that the boys made hearty conversation with the Duke and Duchess all night. The dishes included...**_

* * *

As he read it, something in him stirred and he let out an "aww, how precious" before he could stop himself. Inside, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. His parents would never do that for him. There was another boy from another family of higher status who shared the same birthday as him and probably just to spite him, the boy always invited his family to their festivities. Well, there were years where he was able to celebrate his own birthday but when people of higher classes were involved, his birthday was just another day of the year. His family was always on their toes for a chance to climb up the social ladder; they were probably looking for a 'suitable' wife for him at that very moment.

Annoyed, Arthur flicked himself on the cheek to remind himself to concentrate.

Taking note of the event in his notebook, he continued on. The last article that involved the Bonnefoy family was of the fire and the man's obituary.

* * *

_**Saturday, September 1, 1888**_

_**Fire and loss of life**_

_**Yesterday a massive fire swept through and laid in ruins a vast amount of valuable property and several lives. Among those casualties, Mr. Francis Bonnefoy accounted for one of them. The fire first broke out in the house of Mr. Smith and was then spread out 4 houses down, ending with Mr. Bonnefoy's house. The cause of this fire appears to be a ruptured gas pipe which sent forth an explosion so large that the house itself, not a brick remains on another. The fire brigades immediately dispatched and had the fire extinguished by 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Witnesses say that Mr. Bonnefoy ran into his burning house shouting for his children. Regretfully, he never ventured back out and his remains were recovered this morning, making the total count of death thus far, nine. The other victims that weren't killed have been moved to... **_

* * *

Reading through the obituary, he made a note of who the Frenchman had left his restaurant to before putting the pile of newspaper back in its original spot and extinguishing the lamp. He left the room feeling slightly depressed.

* * *

Venturing back out, he winced as the sun shone through the windows. From a nearby worker, he found out that it was almost noon. "Did you find everything you needed to find? Hey, did you read the articles about Jack the Ripper?"

Arthur turned to see the brunet standing there and nodded, trying to recall the article. "Quite a disturbed man wasn't he? By the way, you knew Mr. Bonnefoy before he moved away, right? Would you mind pointing me in the direction of his old house?"

Sadik shrugged, "sure, I can even walk you part of the way. It's lunch time. Come on, let's walk," he led the Englishman out onto the street, "Just out of curiosity, why are you digging through Francis' history?"

"Hm? It's not that big of a deal, I was just thinking that I might write a biography."

"Of Francis?"

He raised a brow at the man's surprise, "sure why not? I mean I was a fan of his cuisine."

The brunet raised his hands in defense, "Don't get me wrong, I was a huge fan too. It's just most people nowadays would be writing biographies for Her Majesty and whatnot. You caught me off guard with wanting to write about a chef and a family man, that's all. And a French man at that. You know, there was always a French part of him just stayed lit."

"Meaning…?"

"Well for one thing, I found it impressive how he managed to live here considering how he loved talking about Paris, loved complaining about the English. You know, the usual stuff; like how if you were to go to Paris, I bet you'd probably be doing the same thing."

Scoffing, he crossed his arms, "well, naturally. I mean, London _is _better than Paris, don't you agree? I mean, come on, Bonnefoy really wasn't all _that_ impressive. Sure, his food tasted amazing and he had all those articles written about him and the public seemed to love him and artists drew unnecessary drawings of him whenever they could, it's not that big of a deal! And yea, sure, he was actually a decent family man who stood up to nobility which could've ruined his career in this country for the sake of his child's birthday but still, the only reason the public doted on him was because he was young and foreign! That's not _that_ impressive, right? I mean he's _French. _We beat them after the Seven Years' War! And we still have their New France! Obviously the English are more impressive than those frogs!"

He shot another mental _'ha! _to the deceased man though he wasn't sure how or when his rant turned from complaints about the Frenchman to the entire country of France but it happened. And the man just stared at him for a moment before he began laughing, "right, of course! You know what? I like you, but I'm going to stay out of this battle between you and Francis' ghost. You guys can work it out between the two of you."

"What, how'd-?"

"Well, this is my stop," the man cut him off with a hearty grin. "If you keep walking down this street and turn on the third left, right where that woman with the black hat that looks kind of like a nest. You keep going down that street until you hit the better neighbourhood-you'll notice when you reach the 'nice' houses, it's obvious. And his place, it was pretty small…I think the number was 87? There's a streetlamp right in front of it, and he was on the third floor. Who knows? His old neighbours might still be there. We should do this again, drop by some time! Hoşçakalın."

Thanking the man, he continued on his way. And following the other's directions, he found the flats. However, they all started with 3's instead of 8's. So assuming that the man had meant 37, he headed for that building instead. And indeed, it had a streetlamp directly in front of it.

* * *

Of course, the place had been sold off to a new owner, so he decided to ask around the neighbours instead. Walking over to the building on the right, he knocked on the door and a minute later, he could hear footsteps approaching. The door swung open and a blond stood there with his arms at his hips, "like, can I help you with something?"

"I…"

Stunned, he could only stand there and stare. After mentally confirming that it was a boy in front of him, he concluded that the boy was strange. His way of talking was strange and his fashion was certainly very different. He looked about 20 and was wearing a skirt and a ruffled blouse and continued standing there, looking quite indignant. Then a moment later, his temporary courage failed him and he shrunk off, retreating to the safety of his house, "Toris, there's like, a total weirdo at the door!"

He could feel his face reddening as another boy, a brunet with his hair tied back, returned with the blond hiding behind him. The boy smiled ruefully, "hello, I'm sorry about my friend. He gets shy around strangers. I'm Toris Laurinaitis and this is Feliks Łukasiewicz. Are you looking for directions or something, sir?"

"What? Oh, no, sorry, I didn't mean to be rude or anything," he stammered, avoiding eye contact, "have you lived here for long?"

The brunet nodded, "yes, we've live here our whole lives now." Unsure of what the Englishman was looking for, he elaborated, "Our families moved here during the uprise in Poland and Lithuania but the adults are out if you're looking for them which I guess, puts Feliks in charge…"

"And Toris is like, totally my lackey," the blond let out from behind.

Arthur blinked, "oh, so I take it you knew Francis Bonnefoy and the boys?"

Toris tilted his head to the right curiously, "you mean Alfred and Mathieu? Yes, they lived next door for awhile."

"Yea, they just like, suddenly appeared one day, right? And we played together like, all the time."

Before the blond could continue talking, the brunet cut him off, "sorry Feliks, how about we take this inside? Before all the cold air gets in, you know? Would you like to join us for lunch, Mr…?"

"Kirkland, Arthur Kirkland," he introduced himself for the second time that day, "and if you wouldn't mind, I actually haven't eaten anything since breakfast…"

The brunet smiled politely, "We don't mind, there's extra anyways. Feliks, would you mind-"

By that time, Feliks was already retreating, "like, no way. You do it! You're like, my lackey, remember? Besides, I totally to like, seriously pee right now so I'll be back in like a minute or two, okay?"

Sensing the brunet's agitation, he let out a nervous laugh and didn't say anything else.

* * *

After lunch, the three of them sat around the parlour drinking tea. The atmosphere was friendly and relaxed, much to his relief. Arthur set his cup down and looked up at the pair, "you mentioned earlier that you two knew Alfred and Matthew?"

The boys nodded, "we weren't very old when Mr. Bonnefoy moved in but our parents told us all about it. Apparently it was a really big deal to them. I remember when he suddenly came back with Alfred and Mathieu though."

Emerald eyes blinked, "what do you mean suddenly came back?"

Feliks cocked his head slightly, "it like, means exactly that! I remember mama telling me that when their papa first like, moved in, he was totally on his own, you know? And then one day it was like, 'whoa, this is like, totally gnarly, there are other kids now!' right, Toris?"

He wasn't sure he understood the boy's statement for everything it was worth so he just shot them a blank look for a reply. Luckily Toris picked up on his confusion and laughed, "I don't think he gets it, Feliks. How about I try telling the story? I think Mr. Kirkland wants the full version of it."

The blond got up with a shrug and wandered towards the kitchen, "suit yourself. I'm like, totally craving paluszki right now anyways, like seriously, to the max. Be right back."

Toris shot him a rueful smile, "sorry, Feliks is like that."

Arthur shook his head, "no, it's like, totally fine."

He mentally slapped himself.

Luckily, the brunet merely laughed, "His way of speaking rubs off on you, doesn't it? I'm afraid it'll catch on one day and everyone'll start talking like that. But anyways, Mr. Bonnefoy…it was about 15 years ago, I don't remember which month it was exactly but it was raining and it wasn't too cold out so I'm going to guess it was some time in spring…I remember him coming back with Alfred and Mathieu…"

* * *

Nya~

I figured I should cut it off here since it'd get too long otherwise, no? I really need to stop updating in the middle of the night. Sorry if this was a rather uneventful chapter aside from Artie's rant, and the newspaper didn't really follow the format of Victorian newspapers but oh well. Parts of it were from real articles that I found, and same with the ad (if you're looking for mouth wash that'll whiten your teeth and leave your mouth smelling like flowers). The uprising Toris mentioned was the January Uprising in 1863-1865 where Poland and Lithuania rose against Russia and things got quite messy. And mein gott, this site's going to drive me insane, first it doesn't let me put !s and ?s together and now it's not keeping the format. How lame, like seriously, to the max! But ha! Take that! Used my extremely poor html skills and fixed this stupid problem! Anyways, ignore me a. Thank you readers! Love you reviewers! Enjoy!

**_Translations_**:

**_Hoşçakalın_** - Goodbye (Tur)


	6. Chapter 5

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 5:

_April, 1883_

_The blond was sitting by the window and watching the rain when he suddenly began motioning for his friend to approach, "Toris, Toris, like, come look at this! It's like, totally gnarly!"_

* * *

_November, 1898_

Arthur held up a hand, to stop the brunet for a moment. He'd never heard of the word 'gnarly' until minutes ago and now the other was telling him that the blond had been using it ever since he was a small child? He found it unbelievable. Was it even a word? "Wait, wait, wait, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you but…did he actually talk like that when he was little?"

Toris laughed and shook his head, "I'm not sure actually, but he's been talking like that for a long time now so I wouldn't be surprised if it's just me. After being around him for all my life, it's hard to imagine him speaking any other way."

He nodded, "alright. Sorry, please continue."

* * *

_April, 1883_

_He approached the window like his friend told him to and looked out. Though it was raining pretty hard by then, he still managed to make out what was happening. A carriage had drawn up in front of his famous neighbour's house and the brunet they'd often seen the man with got off hastily and ran to unlock the door. The blond then poked his head out and their mouths were moving but he hadn't the slightest idea what was being said._

_Then, the blond got out in nothing but his shirt and pants. In his arms, there was a pair of sleeping children wrapped around the rest of his attire, which, according to his mother, had been especially made and shipped from Paris. The men ran inside and the door slammed shut._

"_What do you think happened? I think those are kids he's bringing home with him." He looked over at Feliks only to see him attempting a backwards somersault. "Feliks? Are you listening?"_

"_Yea, I'm totally listening, I just like, forgot part of what you said."_

"_You weren't actually listening, were you?"_

* * *

_The two of them continued bickering until the Frenchman's door opened again. The blond reappeared and approached their place with a distressed frown on his face. Feliks was clinging to him as he watched, "Toris, he's like, totally coming over here!"_

_Then someone knocked on their door and the two of them froze._

_A minute later, Feliks' mother scurried over to the door and opened it. Quietly, they crept towards the door to eavesdrop on them. "Pan Bonnefoy, it's really coming down out there! You're getting soaked! Please come on in before you catch your death!"_

"_Merci beaucoup madame, but I'm afraid I don't have time for that. I came here to ask a favour of you, actually."_

"_Oh dear, is something wrong?"_

"_You have two boys here, non?"_

"_Tak, that's right. Did they do something?"_

"_No, they're perfect anges. I know it's going to sound like a strange request but was wondering if I could buy two sets of their clothes off of you, just name your price."_

_There was a pause. _"…_I'm afraid I don't understand. W__hat happened, Pan Bonnefoy?"_

_The man sounded impatient as he tried to explain everything as quickly as possible, "there are two little boys in my house right now, soaked to the bone. They don't have dry clothes and I think one of them is sick. I'm making them soup and Roderich suggested I come over to see if you have children's clothes you could sell me since that'd probably be better for the boys than just blankets and oversized suits."_

_The woman didn't respond for a moment before gathering her coat and retreating up the stairs, "I'll bring clothes over. Go back and start running a warm bath, I'll come help you."_

_Without another word, the Frenchman left._

_The two of them met Feliks' mother in the hallway, staring at her with inquisitive eyes. She dismissed them with a wave, "go back and play, you two. I'm going over to help Pan Bonnefoy. Toris' mama's still here if you need anything, alright? Behave yourselves boys. I'll be like, right back."_

* * *

_November, 1898_

He paused; wondering how such a serious story suddenly ended as a comedy. Trying to clear his head to say something helpful, all he could come up with was, "oh, so he talks like his mother…?" There was another pause, "sorry, I meant to ask something else."

Toris shook his head, "it's fine. Um…about a week later, we got to meet them. Alfred and Mathieu, I mean."

Feliks dipped his head, "they were like, super shy at first but then they totally warmed up to us. And it was like, super fun, you know? Al was like, energetic to the max. He always got to be like, the hero when we played which was totally fine with me. And Mattie was like, precious. He was super quiet and just like, followed Al everywhere."

"So Alfred was the leader between the two. And they were adopted by Mr. Bonnefoy...?"

"Not officially, I don't think they came from an orphanage or anything. But we never really got an answer since Alfred always changed the subject or dragged Mathieu off when it was brought up."

He nodded, "I imagine it must've been a sensitive subject for the lads. They didn't live here for very long, did they?"

The boys shook their heads, "they didn't even stay a whole year before moving. They did come back to visit us though…you know, before the fire."

Arthur sipped his tea in silence as he waited for the solemn moment to pass before continuing, "Do you know why they moved? From what I can recall, Mr. Bonnefoy didn't want the boys growing up around this area?"

The brunet sighed, "That's right…but it wasn't because of us-"

"It was like, totally that lady and her kid! They live to like, the other side of Al and Mattie's house! And she was like, a total pain! A major bummer!"

* * *

_May, 1883_

_Their play date was cut short as Alfred stormed out of the house dragging the three of them along back to their house where the Frenchman was having tea with their parents. Rushing through the door with his brother in tow, he sniffled and immediately ran to his father, "papa, papa!"_

_Francis blinked and looked down, "like oh my gosh! Is there like, something wrong? You two look like you're about to like, cry or something!"_

"_Yea, that house was like, full of total jerks! Like seriously, to the max! It was a major bummer, you know?"_

* * *

_November, 1898_

"Feliks…I think you're confusing Mr. Kirkland…maybe I should tell the story instead?"

A shrug, "fine, like, suit yourself."

* * *

_May, 1883_

_They'd been playing at the house on the left of Francis' with the little boy that lived there under the supervision of his mother. However, after a well-aimed punch, soon, they found themselves running out after Alfred who'd dragged Mathieu out of the house. Together, they raced towards their house where their father was having tea with their mothers as their fathers were at work. Tearing the door open, Alfred ran inside and the boys scurried over to their father, "papa, papa!"_

_Hearing the urgency in his son's voice, Francis stopped mid-action and looked down, noticing that the two of them looked like they were about to burst into tears. Worried, he asked the two, "mes chers, is something wrong? You look like you're ready to cry."_

_Alfred had angry tears welling up in his eyes as he yelled to no one in particular, "I don't like playing with him! I don't like his mum! They're mean! They made Mattie cry too! I hate them!"_

_Meanwhile, the two of them had run to the safety of their own mothers' arms._

_Turning his attention to the more timid blond who was still clinging to his brother's hand, the Frenchman got out of his chair and sat on the ground. He gathered the two in his arms, "it's alright, it's alright mes chers, tell papa what happened."_

_Mathieu was trying his best to stifle his crying as he choked out, "papa, do-don't leave us! I don't wanna go back!"_

_Francis was concerned now, "Alfred, what happened?"_

_The boy sniffled, "we-we were playing and then that stupid kid wouldn't let me be the hero. Then he tried to make Mattie play princess and when Mattie said no, he started pulling his hair so I stopped him! And, and then he said we had to listen to him because we're lower class! And then I told him that we weren't, he said his mum told him so! And he said his mum said…" not wanting to shout everything out loud again, he leaned in and whispered it into his father's ear. "So I punched him in the face! But then his mum came in and said…" more whispers._

_Of course, they were there and knew exactly what'd happened. The woman was one of those overly prideful types, eager to move up in the social hierarchy and her attitude had passed onto her son. And the boy, haughtily eager to one up Alfred happily quoted his mother's terms to do so. _

* * *

"_**We're not lower class! It's not like you're better than us or anything!"**_

"_**I am so! Take that back!"**_

"_**You can't make me!"**_

"_**Oh yea? Well my mum said that you two don't even **__**have **__**a status! **__**So you **__**have **__**to listen to me! It's how London works! Lower class bow down to higher class!"**_

"_**Me and Mattie aren't bowing to anyone! We're not lower class than anyone!"**_

"_**Yes you are! My mum said that you two don't have a status because you're just garbage Mr. Bonnefoy picked up on his way home! You two should just go back to the poorhouse!"**_

_**Then Alfred punched him.**_

_**The boy was in shock for a moment before he began wailing for his mother who rushed in to see what'd happened. Outraged, she turned to them, standing protectively over her weeping child. "You wretched little rats! How dare you even think about putting your filthy hands on my darling! Just because Mr. Bonnefoy's willing to overlook your shameful background doesn't mean anyone else will! I will not tolerate this, this disgusting behaviour! You should just go crawl back to your mother at the poorhouse-a whore no doubt! You just wait until Mr. Bonnefoy hears about this, he'll send you two back on the streets in no time!"**_

**_Mathieu stared at his brother in horror, "Alf, papa wouldn't-"_**

**_"Of course he wouldn't! Don't listen to her, Mattie!"_**

**_"Such rude little-!"_**

_**Angry and hurt, Alfred ran up and kicked the woman before taking his brother by the hand and running out the door.**_

* * *

_They studied Francis closely, watching his expression darken as Alfred whispered his story. Then he turned to them, "is all this true?"_

_Assuming that the blond had retold the story, they both nodded._

_Pulling his lips taut, he turned back to his sons. Alfred was frowning, "I'm not going to say sorry!"_

"_Oh no mon cher, I don't think they deserve any kind of apology."_

"_And mummy was a good person! She wasn't a-whatever that lady called her!"_

_Francis shook his head and brushed the hair out of the boy's face to look into his eyes, "I know Alfred, of course she wasn't. That woman had no right to make all these outrageous assumptions. She was wrong. And you did a good job standing up for Mathieu, Alfred, just like a real hero would, oui?"_

_Alfred nodded weakly, wiping his tears away with his sleeve, _"_Yea…"_

_By that time, Mathieu had calmed down slightly and tugged at the Frenchman's shirt, "papa, we're not garbage, are we? That lady said so. You won't send me and Alf back, will you? I-I don't wanna go back…I don't want you to leave us, papa..."_

_Quickly pulling the two into a tight embrace, the man frowned, "non! Je ne serais jamais-! Don't ever think that, even for a second! That woman's an idiot. Don't pay any attention to her, d'accord? I will have a word with her. Don't worry mes chers, you'll never have to see them ever again."_

_The boys looked up at him, "really? You promise?"_

"_Oui, I promise. Allez, let's go home." Turning back to their mothers, he dipped his head apologetically, "mesdames, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this a little short if you don't mind."_

_The women immediately shook their heads, "of course not, Ponas Bonnefoy, you should get those poor boys home!"_

"_Merci," he spoke as he picked the sniffling boys up and made his way to the door, "I had a lovely time today, mesdames, let's continue this on another day."_

* * *

_November, 1898_

"…and that's what happened. He confronted the lady later that day and we haven't heard from her ever since."

"That lady was like, kind of stupid, picking a fight with like, the most popular person around here. She was like, a total cow."

Arthur nodded in agreement. The last thing a person trying to move up in the world is get on the bad side of someone with all the connections let alone insulting his children. "So that's probably when he hired those people to build him a new house."

The pair dipped their heads in agreement.

Noticing that the sky had begun darkening, be started gathering his things and got up, "well, I should probably get going before it gets dark. Thank you for lunch and tea, it was lovely."

The boys saw him to the door, "thank you for dropping by."

"Yea if you're like, nearby or something, come over again! Hey, wait, I'll like, tell you a secret before you go!"

* * *

After bidding farewell to the boys and finding a ride home. He returned to the sanctuary of his house, surrounded by familiar giggles and footsteps, he felt strangely comforted by the little noises. Walking into the kitchen, he blinked when he saw the Frenchman standing by the stove, stirring whatever was in the pot in front of him. And whatever it was, it smelt delicious.

Taking a sip from his spoon, the blond nodded in approval and took the pot off the stove. "Alfred, Mathieu, dîner!" From upstairs, footsteps immediately began thumping around. Excited squeals could be heard making their way down the stairs. Wiping his hands on his apron, the man walked past him and out into the hall, "Alfred, don't pull your brother down the stairs! It's dangerous! Mathieu is _not_ too slow! Apologize to him!"

He watched as everything faded away, leaving nothing but the lingering smell of the dinner the Frenchman had cooked. Silently, he began musing about how unlikely it was for a well off socialite to randomly take in a pair of boys from the street. Then thinking back to the haunting, he frowned, "the stupid frog never changes…it's always the same with him…maybe instead of focussing on him, I should be looking at the boys' background…"

Arthur ran a hand through his hair in exasperation when he realized that he had no way of going around collecting information about the boys without using his 'Francis Bonnefoy's biography' excuse. Taking a final waft of the finely made cuisine, he sighed and took a seat, momentarily wishing he had someone to cook for him. Then he realized exactly what he was wishing for and shook his head. Getting up, he went and made his own supper.

Staring at his failed attempt of a meal, he rested his head on the table and sighed, "…I really should hire a cook…"

* * *

A few days later, he dropped by Antonio's house again. Knocking on the door, he held his breath and waited for an answer. A minute later, the door opened and a brunet around his age stood there, looking quite disgruntled. "What do you want, damn it?"

Slightly taken aback, he asked politely, "pardon me, are you Mr. Carriedo?"

The brunet shot him a strange look before turning back, "Antonio, there's someone here for you, you bastard!"

"Huh? Me?" A voice came from inside, "I'm in the parlour, Lovi! Can you bring him here, please?"

Huffing, the brunet let him in, "why can't you do it yourself, you stupid jerk!"

* * *

Once they reached the parlour, he noticed another brunet who he assumed was Antonio sitting there. The man smiled, "gracias, Lovi. Here," he tossed the other a tomato. Still frowning, 'Lovi' caught it and took a seat and began munching on it. Then the Spaniard turned back to him, "Buenos días, I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, that's Lovino over there. How may I help you today?"

"I'm Arthur Kirkland. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about Francis Bonnefoy? I'm writing a biography on him and I understand that you two were very close friends." He'd used that lie so many times now it almost felt like he was telling the truth.

Antonio smiled, "Francis? Sí, I've known Francis for a long time along, we met way before he moved here, and then we met up again after. We used to set up play dates for Lovi, Al and Mattie, right, Lovi?"

The younger brunet merely scoffed, "you mean stupid hero-complex and his sidekick? They were stupid jerks!"

The Spaniard laughed, "Are you still upset about that time when they got Bella that headband? I thought you were over your crush."

Lovino's face reddened, "Shut up! Why would I be upset over something stupid like that, damn it? Alfred's just stupid, you bastard! And I didn't have a crush on her!"

The man appeared oblivious to the other's blush, "Really? Was it on Lars then?"

"What? I didn't have a crush on Lars, damn it!"

Clearly unable to read the atmosphere, Antonio merely continued laughing lightly, "Well, whatever you decide, you're still Jefe Antonio's favourite and cutest underling in the whole world! Te amo, Lovi."

He wasn't sure what to say while witnessing everything before him. Unsure of whether it was harassment or just an everyday event, he cleared his throat, "excuse me…"

Antonio blinked and turned his attention back to him. Putting a more professional expression on, the man crossed his legs and leaned forward, "oh, sorry, I forgot about you for a minute, didn't I? So what did you want to know?"

"Do you know why Mr. Bonnefoy decided to come here?"

"Hm? Yea, I remember Francis said something about how out of all the places in Europe, you guys needed him the most here."

Arthur raised a brow, "what does that mean?"

The Spaniard's smile never ceased, "he was talking about how there were wonderful culinary masters all over Europe except here, and he liked the challenge so he came here."

He could feel his agitation rising, "so you mean to say that he came to London because he believed that we had no good chefs around?"

"Sí, that's basically the idea. That, and Roderich helped convince him to come."

The name caught his attention, "You mean Roderich Edelstein? The manager of his restaurant?"

Antonio nodded, "well he's the owner now. They didn't always get along very well for some reason, Roderich says it's because Francis' actions were inappropriate, but I was never really sure about what he was referring to. Anyways, the restaurant was kind of a joint project between the two. If you'd like, I can take you over to see Roderich. I have to see Gilbert about something anyways. We can talk more on the way."

A little surprised at how everything happened, he dipped his head, "sure…"

"Lovi, you're coming too, right?"

"I guess so-but it's not because I want to, damn it!"

* * *

Nya~

Oh Antonio, he's just ever so KY. I had a fun time trying to imagine what the story would sound like if Feliks was the narrator. Especially for something serious like this: "And then there was this fire and it was like, totally gnarly! And people died in it. A total bummer, you know? And then the firemen went inside and it was like ew, gross! Bodies! Etc." Class segregation has always been prominent in the UK, but more so in the Victorian Era where there was the royalty, the nobles, upper middle class, lower middle class, lower/working class and then the lowest/poor class. The upper middle class generally dream about climbing the social ladder into nobilty while obviously the nobles dread the idea. I imagine that the reaction to a lower/lowest class person suddenly jumping into the upper middle rung wouldn't be very pretty at all. Yes well, class is starting next week...for me anyways. Boo...I guess we'll see how often I manage to update with classes every day. My schedule sucks...boo... Anyways, thank you readers! Love you reviewers! Enjoy!

_**Translations:**_

_**Je ne serais jamais**_ - I would never (Fr)  
**_Jefe_** - Boss (Sp)


	7. Chapter 6

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 6:

_November, 1898_

Riding in the carriage, Antonio was in the middle of his 'how to make Lovi make cute noises' demonstration. Arthur watched in confusion as the Spaniard laughed and tugged lightly at the younger man's curl, eliciting a 'chigi' from him every time. Antonio gushed, "Isn't he so, so, _so_ cute?"

Meanwhile, the flushed brunet was trying to bat his hand away, "Cut it out, you pervert-chigi!"

Too embarrassed to ask any further questions during such a blatant display of sexual harasfsment, he sat quietly to the side as the carriage continued onwards. Fortunately for him, Antonio either grew tired of it or finally remembered his presence because he stopped and smiled, "lo siento, Lovi's just too cute and I can't help myself, you know? So what'd you want to know about Francis?"

"Oh, uh…I guess I'm curious about his private life?" Mentally, he wished he phrased the question a little better and less ambiguous.

"Francis…well, he was born a beautiful little…I guess you could call it a town, outside of Paris called Pontoise. And his parents used to take him to Paris all the time and that's where he found his passion for cooking. I don't remember the name of the guy that took him in as an apprentice when he was about 13 years old but yea, and then Francis pretty much outgrew his master and started working for all sorts of restaurants. I met him when he came to Spain. My parents own a tomato farm and he came to get some for this dish he was trying out. And he probably met Gilbert while he was in the German Empire and Roderich while he was in Austria-Hungary. Then he came here and he played around a lot with the nobles and people."

He rather liked how straightforward the Spaniard was. "But then he stopped when Alfred and Matthew came along."

The brunet looked up in thought, "I don't know if 'came along' is the right word for it, it's not like they're his real children or anything, or at least I don't think they are. But he did stop fooling around even though they kept inviting him and asking him to attend their balls and stuff."

Arthur nodded, "I see…and do you have any idea where the boys came from?"

"Francis told me what happened was…"

* * *

_May, 1883_

_He watched as the Frenchman slumped over on the table, "I have to find a new house, Antonio."_

_Across the table, he took a bite into a tomato, earning him a slightly disgusted look from his friend, "¿Qué?"_

_The blond shook his head, "Rien. Désolé, I just prefer to have my tomatoes cut up and part of a dish instead of eating it like une pomme…"_

_Their conversations were always a jumble of languages all mixed together though they'd never had any trouble understanding one another. Meanwhile, because Lovino's brother and his friend were visiting, all five children were outside playing and enjoying themselves._

"_Es muy delicioso," he smiled and took another bite, "entonces, ¿por qué necesitas mudar?"_

_Francis glanced out the window to watch the children play for a moment before sighing and retelling the story of the incident with his other neighbour. "I don't want them growing up in a place like that. Antonio, mon cher, je t'en prie, tell me you know a nice neighbourhood I can move to."_

_The brunet pursed his lips for a moment, "I just moved here a little while ago so-oh wait, mi prometida lives in this nice, quiet place and the houses look pretty big. I'll give you the address so you can take a look yourself, okay?"_

_Suddenly, the Frenchman threw himself at him, hugging him tightly, hands wandering, "Antonio, je t'aime tant ! I think you may have just saved my life."_

_He laughed, "Just leave it to Jefe Antonio. But you know, you never told me where the niños came from."_

_The other man sat back down and shook his head, "ah oui, mais l'histoire est trop longue…"_

"_No, no, tengo mucho tiempo, así dime. Dime, dime, dime."_

_The blond sighed and caved in, "Bon, because you might've saved my life just now. It was in April when I was getting ingredients with Roderich for this new dish I was going to make when this little boy pushed Roderich from behind. He grabbed the bread and ran off so I followed him. Alors, when I found him, he was trying to get his brother to eat, but he was too sick to. You don't know what it was like watching them. It was just…tragique. And when I approached him, he looked so scared and **helpless**…you would've had to be a monster to not do anything."_

"_So that's what happened…I didn't think you'd change this much though. No women, less fiestas, you're like a whole new person!"_

_The Frenchman smiled, "I never did like commitment, but look at them. They're anges, I don't think I can ever get tired of them. I feel like you half the time."_

"_Me? What do you mean-" he glanced outside to where the older brunet was trying to teach the younger boys how to add numbers by using their fingers. Listening to them count out loud, he began banging the tabletop with his fist, "¡Mira! ¡Mira! Pffft, ¿estás mirando, Francis? ¡Son desmasiado monos! Pffft qué monos son, ¡voy a morir! ¡Qué mono! Pffft!"_

_Francis laughed, "__**That's**__ what I meant."_

* * *

_November, 1898_

His head was still spinning, trying to keep track of everything that'd just been said. The brunet let out a deep sigh, shoulders slumping slightly, "Ah, I miss Francis…those were the good old times. He always made time for us even though he was always busy. If he was still here, we could all have lunch together and you two could've argued all you wanted and it would've been lots of fun! I'm sure he would've called you a-"

The younger man appeared slightly unnerved by the other's sad smile. "Antonio," he frowned and tried to recall what the man used to do for him when he was little. That stupid cheer-up charm… He faced the other and let out a loud "Fusosososo!"

A second later, Antonio had the brunet in his arms, "Lovi, ¡te amo! ¡Qué mono eres!"

"Stop it, we're here, damn it!"

Getting out of the carriage, the Spaniard paid for the ride and they approached the house. Suddenly, the door opened a woman's voice was heard, "_return the underpants_!"And a figure was sent flying out onto the streets.

A moment later, a flustered brunet with glasses who was wearing nothing but a shirt poked his head out the door, "Gilbert, you idiot, are you alright?"

The man on the streets gave a groan in response.

Antonio laughed, "Looks like everyone's as energetic as ever! Hey Gilbert, Roderich, Elizabeta! ¿Cómo estáis? Why aren't you wearing pants? Is it _that day _already?"

The brunet frowned and attempted to hide his bare lower regions. "This idiot took all my…underpants…! Oh, is that a guest? Please excuse me. Elizbeta, it appears we have visitors, would you mind letting them in while I find something to wear for…down there."

"Sure, Roderich," a brunette responded. She stepped outside with a smile and greeted them, "hello Antonio, Lovi. Oh, a newcomer? I'm Elizabeta Héderváry."

"I-I'm Arthur Kirkland…pleased to make your acquaintance…" he replied uneasily as he watched the woman in green drag the bleeding man back into the house by his foot.

At the door, she turned around, smile still on her lips, "please come inside. Ludwig, Feli, we have guests!"

* * *

As they stepped inside, they were greeted by two more strangers who introduced themselves to him and vice versa. After Lovino disappeared off with the younger men, Antonio pointed at him with a grin, "he's here to ask about Francis so I'll leave him with you, Elizabeta. I'm going to go see what Lovi's doing. And send Gilbert our way after you're done, por favor."

* * *

In the sitting room, the woman was wrapping the wounded man's head with a sigh while the man finally regained consciousness. He began laughing weakly and muttered something about how awesome he was which earned him a smack in the head. "Er'za, you're making it worse!"

"Maybe you shouldn't say stupid things while I'm bandaging you up then!"

Red eyes looked over at him, "hey, who's this guy?"

"He's Arthur Kirkland. He's here to ask about Francis."

"Oh, Fran? That guy was pretty awesome he used to run around here naked! Not like Rodney and his 'I don't have underpants' naked, Fran just really enjoyed being naked and he was a really hands-on kind of guy, you know? And those kiddies were so cute…I taught them how to say 'awesome', you know? But obviously those guys weren't as awesome as me and Lui since we're as awesome as little birds not like Er'za-ow! Aren't you wrapping that a little tight? I thought you were female now-ow!"

The woman shot him a dangerous smile, "you're treading on thin ice, Gil. You're lucky you're only visiting."

"Ja, I doubt Oppa would want you to cripple someone as awesome as me." The man sighed, "But Francis, Al and Mattie…I miss them. Hey, did you guys ever find his recipe book? He told me that there were new and secret recipes in it."

Elizabeta frowned, "Gilbert, wouldn't it have burnt in the fire?"

The German shook his head, "I think he had two copies. He mentioned that he wanted to make one for Mattie since you remember how Al didn't like cooking. Or do you only have memories of Fran harassing Rodney?"

"I remember the boys very well köszönöm! You know I love cute boys! Besides, it was unforgivable what Francis did, making Roderich pant and cry like that!"

"But you kept watching, 'tonio told me so! Franc even declared you as one of us-I mean them!"

The woman laughed, "I don't know what you're talking about, _Gilbert_. My love for Roderich is platonic!"

"Yea, I bet it is-ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow! It hurts! It hurts! Er'za!"

* * *

Awhile later, a voice rang out from the doorway.

"Sorry for making you wait," the brunet from earlier appeared. Pushing his glasses up, he apologized again, "and I'm very sorry you had to witness that earlier. But it was clearly that idiot's fault!"

Gilbert sat up in protest, "_My_ fault? I was just doing you a favour and cleaning this damn place! Why do you keep your underpants everywhere anyways? Hey, wait, where'd you find a new pair?" Silence. "Wait, don't tell me you're wearing _mine_!"

The brunet crossed his arms, "You threw out all of mine, you idiot!"

"But they were all old, torn and mended, you stupid aristocrat! You've got the money, why don't you get yourself new underpants instead? I mean you spend a fortune on your meals!"

"That's because I'm Austrian," was the aristocrat's only reply.

Finally, the woman finished wrapping up the man's injury and pulled him up, "come on Gil, let's let them do their business."

"But he's wearing my underpants! Don't just giggle! Stop being such a girl! He's got my underpants! Nein, _meine Unterhose_!" His protests died out as he was dragged out of the room.

Finally left alone with Roderich, the brunet cleared his throat, "I don't believe I've introduced myself yet. I'm Roderich Edelstein."

Arthur shook his hand, "Arthur Kirkland…I'm here to ask about Francis Bonnefy. I'm writing a biography on him. You two were business partners I believe?"

A nod, "that's right, until he died and left the place to me. It just doesn't work as well without the head chef there. I mean, the place was named after him, that idiot! And we haven't had a new recipe in years now! Why did he have die? I mean sure, we didn't always see eye to eye since he was an insufferably perverted idiot but we had a business together!"

Noting the man's talkative mood, he figured it'd be easy to extract information from him, "how did you two start working together?"

"He was working in Vienna when we met. He wanted to start his own restaurant-and he certainly had the skills to start his own business, but he didn't want to deal with all the paperwork and whatnot; it wasn't exactly his forte. So I made him an offer. We split the cost in half, and I took the role of manager while he dealt with the food and workers."

He tried to think of a subtle segue but couldn't. "So he had a very fulfilling professional life…what about his family life? I understand he took in a pair of orphan boys. Alfred and Matthew?"

Roderich frowned, "ja, I was there. They were quite literally from the streets. Out of nowhere, Alfred came and knocked me over and grabbed some of the food we'd bought. Francis went and chased after him and then came back with the two in his arms. Normally, I wouldn't have been surprised in the least if he'd returned with two women in his arms, but children-homeless children at that! But he did become completely devoted to them…"

The blond nodded, "well, from what I heard, he made a wonderful father to the boys."

"He was the most insecure father in all of London." His brows quirked at that, it was somewhat refreshing to hear someone criticizing the Frenchman. "The first year or so, he kept asking me if he was doing things right. He kept worrying about what kind of people the boys would be growing up around, about how people would treat them, about what they should eat, about what they should learn, everything! And of course, the women ate it up and he became even more popular but he didn't seem to notice.

"I remember how he made me wait an hour for him while he went to the toy store to get their Christmas gifts. Though I admit, it was quite adorable watching Mathieu bring that doll everywhere he went. Alfred broke his within weeks, but that was somewhat expected, that idiot. I think it was Alfred anyways, the only people that could tell them apart were Francis and the boys themselves; I don't know how he managed it."

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and laughed. It wasn't hard to imagine it. "Do you know anymore about the boys? Like where they were from or anything like that?"

"No one really knew anything about those boys. They couldn't even agree on what day their birthdays were on so in the end, they got to pick their own birthdays and who was older. In some ways, we created children out of nowhere, I think. Oh, Francis did try going around to different workhouses to find out what happened to their mother. I think he found something but he never told me anything except for the workhouse. It was the workhouse of the City of London, maybe you'll find something there. He wrote it down everything that happened somewhere, but it might've gotten caught in that fire."

"What about the cemetery where they're buried? I mean, I'd like to pay my respects…"

Roderich nodded understandingly, "You might be interested to know that one of the boys' graves is empty."

He furled his brows, "what? Why?"

"Apparently one of the bodies was so badly burnt that it crumbled and they were unable to recover it. It's a shame, really. I believe it was Mathieu's that remained empty." A sigh, "sometimes, I swear I still see them around, but that's probably just my imagination. Well anyways, it seems to be lunch time. Will you be joining us, Mr. Kirkland?"

Not one to pass up a free meal, he nodded, "if you wouldn't mind, I'd like that very much."

* * *

After the meal, Arthur went and visited the graveyard. Awhile of searching later, he finally found the tombstone of the Bonnefoy family. He found it strange that there wasn't a fancy epitaph as he would've expected from the Frenchman. Instead, all it said was:

_**In memory of Francis Bonnefoy  
Died on Aug. 31 1888  
Aged 26 years  
Renowned chef, wonderful friend and beloved father of two**_

He found it unsettling how a person's entire life could be summed up in a single line. It was hard to believe that the person buried there had once been alive and was still haunting his house. And on either side of the tombstone, there were two smaller ones for the boys. Looking at Matthew's tombstone, he couldn't help but think of how there was nothing but an empty coffin underneath the ground.

_**Here lies Mathieu Bonnefoy  
Died on Aug. 31 1888  
Aged 9 years  
Beloved son and brother**_

Then walking over to Alfred's, he kneeled and read a similar epitaph:

_**Here lies Alfred Bonnefoy  
Died on Aug. 31 1888  
Aged 9 years  
Beloved son and brother**_

"The poor lads, they were so young…" sighing, he shook his head, lightly tracing a finger over the etching on the stone. Then, as the clouds parted and revealed the sun, something shiny caught his eye. Blinking, he leaned in closer and brushed the overgrown grass out of the way to reveal something half buried in the dirt. Pulling it out of the dirt, it turned out to be a chain with something attached to it. Raising a brow, he rubbed the dirt off to reveal what appeared to be a key.

Suddenly, he felt another person's presence nearby. Quickly pocketing the key, he got up and turned around only to see a little boy. His brows furled when he noticed that the boy looked very familiar for some reason. Then he realized it was one of Bonnefoy boys, he opened his mouth but then closed it again, watching as the boy stared at his feet with a sad look on his face, "he can't hear me anymore…"

He blinked and crouched down, "who can't hear you?"

"He can't see me either…"

Arthur frowned, "Who are you talking about?"

"…he's gone far away and I can't reach him anymore…what should I do…?"

The boy disappeared before he could say anything else, but for the rest of the day, all he could hear were those quiet, choked back sobs.

* * *

Nya~

Here's the next chapter. I played Prussia's cleaning game and this is the result. But hey look, Gilbo doesn't have a tragic past or anything this time! Austria-Hungary wasn't formed until March 30, 1867 so technically, because they were born before then, Rodney's Austrian and Elizabeta's Hungarian. And the German Empire was formed January 18th, 1871 so technically, Gilbo was born in Prussia. I can't believe I spent half an hour looking at pictures of old tombstones and graveyards. It's kind of sad how many of the Victorian cemeteries have been taken down or destroyed either by war or some other reason. I love Antonio's cheer up charm! And I have conversations like Fran and Tonio's all the time with my friends where you speak in different languages. As long as you're both familiar with the languages, it carries out like a normal conversation. It's really fun, actually. You know, I'm almost glad school's starting just because that'll mean I actually have to get up and get out of the house. Anyways, thank you readers, love you reviewers and enjoy!

**_Translations_**:

**_¿Qué? _**- What? (Sp)**_  
Rien - _**Nothing (Fr)**_  
Une pomme - _**An apple (Fr)**_  
Entonces - _**Then (Sp)**_  
¿Por qué necesitas mudarte? - _**Why do you have to move? (Sp)**_  
Mi prometida - _**My fiancée (Sp)**_  
Je t'aime tant - _**I love you so much (Fr)**_  
Mais l'histoire est trop longue - _**But the story's too long (to tell) (Fr)**_  
Tengo mucho tiempo, así dime - _**I have lots of time, so tell me (Sp)**_  
¡Mira! - _**Look! (Sp)**_  
¿Estás mirando? - _**Are you watching? (Sp)**_  
¡Son desmasiado monos! - _**They're too cute! (Sp)**_  
¡Voy a morir! - _**I'm going to die! (Sp)**_  
¡Qué mono eres! - _**How cute you are! (Sp)**_  
¿Cómo estáis? - _**What's up/How are you guys? (Sp)**_  
Meine Unterhose! - _**My underpants! (Ger)

*_Note_: There are lots of words for 'cute' in Spanish (ex: mono, lindo, rico, cuco...) but since Antonio's from Spain, I'm going to go with mono. From what I know, that's what they use most often there. But if I'm wrong, please tell me and sorry!


	8. Chapter 7

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 7:

_February, 1899_

Arthur shivered as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Why's it so damn nippy here," he grumbled under his breath as he trudged over to the siblings' hose, hoping that he wasn't disturbing anything. He hadn't been able to do anything since his older brothers had returned for a long visit. After months of putting up with their teasing and tormenting, he was finally free again.

Knocking on the door, he let out a sigh of relief as Bella opened the door, "oh, hallo Mr. Kirkland. It's really cold out, isn't it? Why don't you come inside? Broer's at work right now but he should be back soon."

"I actually have to run somewhere right now. I brought over some of Bonnefoy's things for you to translate, if you're not busy with other things, that is."

The blonde nodded, "alright, that's no problem, just leave it to me. I don't really have anything planned anyways. I'll have them done by the time you get back."

"Thank you so much. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"I'll have tea and biscuits ready for you by then."

Smiling, he waved goodbye and made his way back down the street, hailing a carriage on the way.

* * *

Making his way down to the center of the city, after asking for the direction from several people, he was finally able to locate the workhouse though he had to wonder how he managed to miss such a large building in the first place. Stepping inside, he couldn't hide his distaste. The smell alone was enough to make him gag. The odour of sickness and unhygienic practices filled the place while its appearance only further supported his disgust. Wandering around, he found himself lost as he walked through the endless hallways. Finally fed up, he turned into a random room only to find two boys peeling potatoes.

He stood there and stared. The two looked young, too young to be working, especially the shorter one who looked barely 15. Then shame and realization hit him that they weren't there out of freewill but probably out of necessity. He could hardly believe the life others had to live while he and his parents lived comfortably and summoned demons out of boredom.

The boys both glanced up at him, the small one shaking while the older one did the talking, "can we help you with something, sir?"

Immediately dipping his head apologetically to stop himself from staring, he spoke as he stared at his shoes, "y-yes, I'm terribly sorry, I was hoping someone would be able to point me in the direction of the head's office."

"The master's office? It's down the hall and across from the chapel…"

Retreating back to the door, he thanked the two, "oh, would you mind giving me the name of the master so I have something to address him by?"

"Yes, of course, it's Ivan Braginski-" just as he uttered the name, the smaller boy spliced open his finger with the paring knife and the older boy looked horrified, "_Raivis!_"

* * *

Quickly excusing himself, he followed the boy's instructions and found himself at the master's office. Before he could knock on the door, he heard people talking inside. One man had a particularly heavy Chinese accent, "aiya, you want _how _much?"

"Just a little more."

"First I have to delivery it and now you want me to get you _more_? No, tai ma fan a! I'll get you more next time."

"I suppose I'll just have to settle for that, дa? Even though I'm the customer here…"

"…aiya, hao le, hao le, I'll send Hong and Mei here with more but I'm charging you extra!" Then the door opened and a short Chinese man with his hair drawn up in a long ponytail left the room, muttering angrily to himself. "I wonder how Yong Soo is doing? The customers better be happy when I get back…"

Catching a whiff of something akin to incense but sweeter, he pursed his lips and knocked on the door. "Come on in."

Stepping inside, he found himself face to face with a large man with a friendly smile that gave him goose-bumps. "H-hello, I'm Arthur Kirkland…I was hoping to inquire about something…possibly one of your old workers?" Silently, he wondered what the Frenchman had asked because he realized that he hadn't actually prepared a question yet.

"Ivan Braginski. I don't know if I can answer your question, I guess it depends what it's about, дa?"

He rubbed the back of his neck while his mind raced, "I actually wanted to find a woman…she was here…probably more than a decade ago? Early 1870s, late 1860s…?"

The Russian tilted his head, "I'm afraid I'm going to need more information than that."

"She might've given birth to two boys here. Alfred and Matthew? Does that ring a bell? I believe a French man came here and asked about them before as well." The man sat back in his chair and observed him silently for a moment before he understood what the other was waiting for. Reaching in his pocket and pulling out a quid, he placed it on the desk in front of the man, "well?"

Taking the note, Ivan smiled, "the French man offered more but I suppose this will do. I remember, he came here 10 years ago to ask about twins. I have the records of their birth but you'll probably get more from the matron. She's probably at the unruly women's place right now with her assistant, it's just a little to the left from here. Ask her about a woman…'Jones', I believe. The matron's Mona, you'd do well to remember it, дa? Thank you for your visit."

Annoyed that he paid so much money for nothing, he left the room with a scoff.

* * *

Walking down the hall, he noticed a woman's voice coming from a room. Knocking on the door, there was a pause before a woman with glasses and a single braid slung over her shoulder poked her head out, "yes?"

"Would you happen to be the matron?"

She adjusted her glasses and studied him for a moment, "Yes, I'm Mona, how may I help you, sir?"

"Arthur Kirkland. I just wanted to get some information on a woman…Jones?"

The woman blinked in thought, "Jones? Oh, William-Jones. Just wait," she turned to who he assumed was her assistant, "Natalia, keep them under control. I'll be back in a moment, I just have to escort Mr. Kirkland here to the nurse."

He frowned, "the nurse?"

"Yes, I believe Katyusha knows more about this woman than I do. Follow me."

* * *

Obediently tailing the matron down the hall towards the infirmary, the two walked in silence. Once they arrived, he thanked her and stepped inside. The place smelt horrible, it was almost like a poorly ventilated hospital. Holding a sleeve over his nose, he stepped into another room to find a well-endowed woman sitting by a bed with a sleeping child. "Excuse me…"

She looked up and motioned for him to return to the larger room before speaking, "Hello, how can I help you? You don't look like you're from here."

"Oh no, I'm not. I'm Arthur Kirkland. I was told that you knew a woman by the surname of Jones? William-Jones? I believe she had children here, two boys, possibly twins."

The nurse nodded, speaking with a heavy Eastern European accent, "that's right, she had twins here and then she left two or three years after that. I only talked to her a few times when she was resting here. The poor girl, her beau got her pregnant and went to war in…oh no, I don't remember anymore. It was either the African one or the Afghan one…well anyways, he died in battle and she was disowned so she came here. It happens a lot here…" she gave a sigh and shook her head.

Confused, he cocked his head to the side, "So was her surname Jones or William-Jones?"

"I'm not sure, it was either Williams or Jones. She changed her name after she came here but she got them mixed up herself. Sometimes she introduced herself by one and then she's switch to the other. We just called her William-Jones after awhile. But Alfred and Matvey, they only went by one of them I think."

He's opened his mouth to ask further questions when a person walked in. It was the older boy from earlier, "Katyusha! Raivis! He accidentally cut himself again! It looks really deep, too! _Raivis!_"

Worriedly, the nurse made her way to the door, "I'm sorry Mr. Kirkland…"

Arthur shook his head and retreated towards the door, "no, please, go ahead and help them. I'll just be on my way now. You've helped me a lot already, thank you for your time."

* * *

Once outside again, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with relatively fresher air. He shuddered to think about what life would be like inside the workhouse. On the way down the street, he bumped into a pair of Asians. The boy shot him a blank look and remained silent while the girl pulled him down the street by the arm with a parcel in her hands.

He raised a brow at the parcel. It was probably opium…he'd heard all about the opium dens that were supposedly occurring worldwide. Shaking his head in disapproval, he got into a carriage and made his way back home while reviewing the boys' story in his head.

From what he'd gathered thus far, he figured out that the boys' mother had been disowned by her family when her soldier beau died in war. She went and worked in the workhouse and gave birth and she left a couple years later. From there, he assumed they lived a hard life and she died shortly afterwards, leaving the children to fend for themselves. Then they were taken in by the Frenchman and they lived happily for awhile, until the fire hit...and now they were ghosts. From what he figured, the Frenchman was probably only around because of the boys and Matthew, because of his empty grave and Alfred, because the other two were angry at him for some reason.

As he hailed a carriage, all he could think of was how he wished understood the reason behind the father and brother's anger, not that they appeared angry when haunting the house, and where the poor boy's body was.

* * *

Sighing, he made his way back over to the Belgian's house. On his way, he watched as Lars saw an Asian man off, "it was good doing business with you, Kiku, send Wang my regards." As the carriage left, he looked over, casually taking a drag from his pipe, "you again? Oh right, Bella said you'd be coming back." The man ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his scarf, "come on inside I guess, she's probably waiting for you."

Arthur nodded and followed the Dutchman into the house.

"Bell? Where are you? Your guest is back."

"Mr. Kirkland's here? Bring him to the sitting room, please" was the reply.

Huffing, the taller man walked him to his destination, "I'm not a butler, you know."

His sister merely grinned, "of course not, broer. Here, have a biscuit for your hard work. It's a new recipe I'm trying. I brewed coffee for you as well."

"I'm not a dog either," the man muttered before he grabbed one and popped it into his mouth. "Not bad…" he muttered as he took a seat and took another.

Bella returned her attention to him, "Please have a seat. I actually finished translating everything you gave me just a little while ago."

Perking up, he subconsciously scooted towards the edge of his seat in anticipation, "oh, that's amazing! Was there anything particularly interesting?"

The woman nodded and began spreading out the stack of paper she had in front of her, "well most of these were just unfinished letters and thank you notes to clients. There were a couple recipes as well, I actually tried one and as you can tell, these biscuits came out great. I'm not sure if they're finished yet though, there seems to be a little something missing, but I'll figure it out eventually. Oh, and here are a couple order forms for supplies from Paris…"

She continued going through her notes while the Englishman and the Dutchman rapidly polished off the plate of snacks. Once they were down to the last biscuit, Lars frowned, "tell him about the will."

Bella nodded and sifted through the pages, "that's right; there was something here that looked like a draft of a will…it's only the beginning though…"

Arthur stopped and stared at her while the Dutch man triumphantly ate the last biscuit, "a will?"

"Yes, it's more like a rough outline, really, notes written for himself since I'd imagine the final copy to be in English. It basically said that should anything happen to him, Mr. Edelstein would take over the business and the boys would've been left to him. All of Monsieur Bonnefoy's money and assets would've been left to the boys, obviously. And there were a few specifics…Alfred would have to take care of his brother and he'd been given 'the key' to all the 'other things' Monsieur Bonnefoy was planning to give them."

His brows furled, "other things? Key?" Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the little golden key he'd found at the cemetery, "could this be…? Does this key look familiar to you?"

The siblings shook their heads, "why do you have a key with you?"

"It was in my pocket, I'd forgotten about it…I found it months ago."

Assuming that the Englishman had meant that he'd found it in his house, the two shrugged, "perhaps you should ask Mr. Edelstein or Antonio."

He nodded, "yes, I'll definitely go and pay them a visit soon. What else is there?"

* * *

The three of them continued idly chatting until the sun began setting. Arthur got up, "well, I suppose I should get going now. Thank you again for your help."

"It wasn't a problem, really," the woman smiled and began gathering the plates, "broer will see you to the door."

* * *

Once outside, the men inhaled deeply. Lars looked over, pipe dangling in his mouth, "that key of yours…"

He blinked and took it out of his pocket, "this one? Yes? What about it?"

The blond shook his head, "it's nothing, I just thought it looked familiar for a minute…a little like-"

"Broer, you're not bothering Mr. Kirkland, are you?"

"Nee, why would I do that?"

Bella stepped outside, "don't mind broer. He gets moody when we talk about Mathieu and Alfred, it's because it feels like they're still around sometimes, you know?"

Vaguely, he wondered if she was talking about the ghosts, "what? Have you seen them around here or something?"

The man shrugged ambiguously, "they're dead. There's no way it could've been them."

His sister nodded in agreement, "it was probably just wishful thinking on our part. Please come visit us again soon! I'll make sure you and broer get separate plates next time. I didn't think you two would be going at it like that."

Flushing, he turned away, "well, your biscuits were very good…I should head on back and start on supper. Thank you for your time. Good night."

The blonde laughed and waved goodbye, "you too!"

* * *

Walking towards his house, he frowned at the sight of the little ghost standing there. Was he the one the siblings had been seeing? He'd given up on trying to persuade the boy to approach the house months ago. The closest he'd gotten was 2 steps before the child shook his head fearfully and disappeared. So instead, he figured gathering information would be a better use for his time. "Hello lad."

Blue eyes glanced over at him and replied casually, "hello mister."

"Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"Have you seen this key before," he pulled the key out of his pocket and held it in front of the other.

"That looks like mine," the boy's eyes widened and his hand immediately went up to his collarbones. Confused, he looked down only to see nothing there, "it's gone! Papa gave that to me! Where'd you get it from? It looks exactly like mine!"

Unsure of how he was supposed to inform the child that he found the key at his grave, he pulled his lips tight, "are you sure you didn't drop this somewhere?" After the words came out, he felt like an idiot for asking a ghost whether he dropped a key or not.

The blond shook his head, "papa made it into a necklace for me so that I wouldn't lose it. I was supposed to be in charge of it."

For a moment, he thought about giving the key back to the boy but reconsidered. "What was it for?"

"I don't know, papa said to ask Rodney if we need to use it. But he lives really far away so we were supposed to go to Bella and Lars and wait for Antonio to pick us up. We're not allowed to use it without Rodney's permission."

Before he could ask another question, the boy had faded away. Sighing in exasperation, he made his way towards the front door, "I suppose this means I'll have to pay them another visit…"

* * *

Nya~

I'm sorry this chapter 1) was so uneventful and 2) took such a long time to upload. I hope you're not bored with this. I promise the next one will be more eventful, whenever I get the time to actually type it out. The first two weeks of school have been hectic and I really need to stop procrastinating. There were opium dens all over North America and France, it's basically a place where people smoked opium. There were a lot of rumours about these dens in England but I don't think there's a lot of physical evidence found. England was involved in 2 wars around 1879, the Anglo-Afghan war and the Anglo-Zulu war. What else? The conditions in workhouses were horrible. Mostly built for the poverished and mentally/physically disabled, the place was built for minimal comfort. Men were seperated from women and women were seperated from their children. The kiddies received a little education until they reach a certain age, then they join the adults and work. There were all sorts of jobs, from potato peeling to bone crushing; none of them sound particularly appealing, right? Many of the women who went there were disowned by their family for getting pregnant and whatnot. They'd go and give birth there since it was either that or try to survive on the streets on their own. And when a woman exits a workhouse, her children have no choice but to follow her, until they're of age anyways. It was generally 14 for boys and 16 for girls I believe. It was like Oliver Twist but worse. Oh, and Mona's Monaco in case you were wondering. Yes well, let's end this history blurb. Thank you readers and I love you reviewers! Enjoy!

**_Translations_**:

**_Hallo_** - Hello (Dut)  
_**Tai ma fan**_ (太麻烦/太麻煩) - Too troublesome (Man/ Can)  
_**Hao le**_ (好了) - Fine (Man/Can)  
**_Nee_** - No (Dut)


	9. Chapter 8

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 8:

_February, 1899_

Knocking on the door, he was half expecting the German man to come flying out again. But instead, a happy brunet opened the door, "ve, Ludwig, we've got a guest!"

From inside, a familiar voice rang out, _"Mein gott, I'm super stuffed! This was the awesome-est breakfast ever! ...crap, I can't get up, I'm too full!"_

_"I told you not to eat so much, Bruder…who is it, Feliciano?"_

"It's…" the young man stared at him for a moment before continuing, "the guy from last time!"

"Arthur Kirkland," he reminded the other.

"That's right. It's Arthur Kirkland!"

_"Why don't you ask him what he's here for?"_

Feliciano turned back to him, "What are you here for?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm looking for Mr. Edelstein if he's not too busy at the moment…"

"Oh, sorry, Roderich and Elizabeta went out, they left really early in the morning. You can probably find him at the restaurant though. You know how to get there, right?"

Arthur nodded, "yes I do, thank you."

"You're welcome, have a nice day!"

* * *

After awhile, he found himself taking a detour by the cemetery on the way to the restaurant. Stepping towards the graves, he blinked when he noticed all the new additions to the graves. "I suppose the frog was quite popular back then, it only makes sense that people pay their respects…"

But upon closer inspection, he noted that one of the grave offerings differed from the rest. He blinked at the little wreath made mostly of the flower buds that grew in the graveyard. He could tell that it'd been made but a day or two ago because though the flowers used had wilted, it still looked somewhat presentable. The knots looked childish but it'd clearly been made with care. Looking at how it was placed on top of the Frenchman's tombstone, he could feel his chest clench at the sight.

He wondered, if like the ghosts at his house, the graveyard's little ghost had a schedule he went by. As he left, he silently resolved to visit the cemetery more often to see if the ghost would appear again.

* * *

At the restaurant, he managed to pull a few strings and get a seat with minimal waiting time. He looked around the place nostalgically, the all the tables were filled just as he remembered and it was just for lunch. Thinking back to the crowd outside, he could recall the hordes of people lining up to get in the last time he was there. It was somewhat surprisingly that the place was still so popular despite having lost their main attraction.

A young woman with long black hair drawn into pigtails approached him with a smile, "bonjour monsieur, my name is Sesel and I'll be your waitress today. Can I start you off with something to drink?"

"Ale would be nice…" but then he noticed what kind of setting he was in and changed his mind, "actually, make that a cup of tea, Earl Grey, please." As he spoke, he realized how little he'd drank over the past few months. Sure, there was that one time where he and his brothers went out and got drunk but that was it. He figured it was his self-consciousness that held him back. Getting drunk in a house full of ghosts meant there'd be witnesses…even though they were dead.

"A cup of Earl Grey? I'll get it for you right away."

"Oh, and is Mr. Edelstein in?"

The young woman blinked, "Monsieur Edelstein? Oui, I believe he's in the back. Do you have business with him?"

He rubbed the back of his neck with an unsure smile, "Yes, I suppose you can call it that…would you mind telling him that Arthur Kirkland's here? I have something to ask him about."

She nodded with a smile, "of course, I'll be back in a minute."

As the girl disappeared, he sat there and reminisced about the past. He flipped through the menu to see that the dessert the Frenchman had made him all those years ago was listed there simple as 'The Special'.

"_I'll go make you a little dessert that I only make at home. You can be the first customer to try it."_

Inwardly, he felt a twinge of pride, knowing that he'd been the customer to try it. He continued debating with himself whether or not he should get the dish again and risk having his expectations drop. "There can't be _that _much of a difference," he told himself, "it shouldn't matter who makes it, if they follow the recipe, it should come out the same."

Though thinking back on his own cooking, he knew it wasn't true.

"You'd be surprised at how differently dishes can come out if made by the wrong person. If you're looking at desserts, might I recommend la pyramide au chocolat blanc?"

Arthur gave a start and looked up, "Oh, Mr. Edelstein, sorry, you caught me a little off guard…"

The Austrian shot him a professional smile, "That's fine, I didn't mean to sneak up on you. Judging by the way you were looking at the menu, I take it you've been here before?"

"Yes, I was here a long time ago with my family. Mr. Bonnefoy was in at the time and the food was absolutely delicious. Would you care to join me?"

The brunet thought about it for a moment before nodding, "I don't see why not. It's only lunch time, and I don't need to entertain anyone until supper. Ever since that idiot died, I've had to take over his job to oversee everything…Sesel, I'll be joining Mr. Kirkland here, so if you wouldn't mind…"

The girl nodded, "I'll get you your cutlery in a moment, are you ready to order, messieurs?"

* * *

After placing their orders, the Austrian looked over at him, "so how's your biography coming along?"

Arthur paused and stared at the other blankly for a moment before hastily answering, "It's coming along just fine. I keep finding new information to add to it though."

The Austrian gave a slow nod, "I see…well, I doubt you came here just to join me on my lunch break. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Actually, I was wondering about a certain key you might know about," he decided to keep it hidden in case the other wanted it returned.

Roderich blinked, "a certain key?"

He nodded, "yes, I believe there was a key that Mr. Bonnefoy entrusted to Alfred."

The brunet raised a brow, "I'm going to assume that you found this key, otherwise you would've never known about it…"

Avoiding the question, he simply shrugged, "I found something that appears to be the outline for a will of some kind. It mentioned a key that was handed over to Alfred, just like how this restaurant was handed over to you and that the lads would've been in your custody if anything was to happen to him."

Still looking slightly unconvinced, Roderich crossed his arms, "yes, well, that may all be true but it doesn't actually matter, now does it? He didn't get a chance to write a final draft of his will, if that's what it was. That, and Alfred is no longer here with us, and neither is Francis nor Mathieu. The key was probably caught in the fire or buried with the boys, so unless you have the key here with you, there's no point in discussing it."

With no choice left, he pulled the trinket out, "this is it, right? I found it awhile ago…"

Taking the key into his hand to inspect it closer, he narrowed his eyes and nodded, "yes, this is definitely Alfred's key. Where did you find this?"

He was hoping the other wouldn't ask, but since he did, he answered honestly, "I found it at Alfred's grave the last time I went to pay my respects. Do you know what this key's for," he asked, not wanting to give too much detail because then he'd have to explain that the boy's ghost had told him everything. "I had a feeling you'd know since you were mentioned in Mr. Bonnefoy's will so often."

The Austrian nodded and returned the key back to him, "Yes I do, but our food's here, let's begin eating first then continue discussing this."

His stomach growled in agreement, much to his embarrassment. "Y-yes, of course. Let's eat!"

* * *

"So the key…" he wiped his mouth and took a slow sip of his tea, savouring the taste. He was glad he wasn't drinking wine like some of the other customers because no matter how classy it looked, it simply didn't suit his taste. Besides, it was only lunchtime.

Sesel walked by and took his dish away, "I'll bring out your dessert in a minute."

"Thank you."

Roderich nodded his thanks as his dish was taken as well, "yes, the key…it's to a safety deposit box ran by an acquaintance of mine. Though our relationship isn't what it used to be, we're still on talking term and he has the most secure bank in all of London, he's Swiss, you see. Francis insisted that I take him to open an account…I'm not sure what he put in there though. Then, as you know, he passed the key onto Alfred."

He blinked, a question arising in his head, "why Alfred? Why not Matthew?"

"I suppose it's because Alfred was the unofficial leader between the two or maybe it's because Mathieu tended to have his head in the clouds most of the time and would've lost it. That, and Alfred would've reacted badly if the key had been given to Mathieu. Francis always assumed the two would be together and that Alfred would be taking care of Mathieu so I don't see why the key wouldn't have been passed to him. I still find it strange that it was at the grave though."

The Englishman took another sip from his cup, "Yes well…believe me, I was surprised as well. And where is this place, the bank?"

"Vash's bank?"

"Yes, you wouldn't mind me going and taking a look at the contents, would you?"

"And here are your desserts," the waitress returned.

"Thank you."

Roderich frowned thoughtfully, "actually, don't take this the wrong way, but I'd rather accompany you. The things left there were for the boys…I'd like to take a look as well. And don't misunderstand me. I merely want to see if he had any final wishes that haven't been fulfilled yet."

The Englishman immediately held his hands up in defense and reassured the other, "No, no, that's completely understandable. Let's set an appointment then and go."

"Yes, that'd be wonderful, but I'm afraid I'm fully booked until sometime in April, this place will be undergoing renovations, you see. Would April work for you?"

He nodded though inwardly, he felt aghast at the amount of time he'd have to wait, "April sounds fine. Just tell me the date and time."

The brunet looked around blankly for a moment, "…I'll get Ludwig to contact you with more information. This is all that idiot's fault…leaving me to do the work meant for two, I can't even remember my own schedule anymore."

Arthur hid his smile behind his cup, "So he's basically playing the role of your agenda?"

"Of course not," he could hear the other's aristocratic tone coming out, "he is merely assisting me by reminding me of important dates and events. He's an exceptionally organized boy after all."

Humming in agreement, he took a bite of his dessert, "hm, you were right. This tastes different than when Mr. Bonnefoy made it for me."

"Of course, you idiot, he's the one who created these recipes. And the dessert you chose was made by Francis especially for Alfred and Mathieu, of course it's not as good. It's like eating Gebackene Apfelspalten or Sachertorte that's been made from second class ingredients! There could've been a secret ingredient that he used for all we know though I've watched him cook and he used nothing but the ingredients we had in the kitchen just like everyone else."

Before he could stop himself, he blurted out "secret ingredient? You mean like love?" A moment later, he wondered why he even uttered the childish statement.

Roderich's brows furled slightly in thought at the suggestion but then nodded at the possibility, "I suppose that's not entirely impossible. He _was _French after all…" He set his fork down and wiped his lips, "I'm afraid I have to get back to work now. It was nice eating with you, please come by again. I will see you in April."

"Ah yes…of course…goodbye," he muttered as the other left.

* * *

Then Sesel returned with the bill.

And he gaped.

"_What_? That no good aristocratic freeloader! Why am I footing _his _bill when we're dining at _his _restaurant? If anything, this should've been on the house! This is absolutely _ridiculous_!"

The young woman merely laughed, "That's because Monsieur Edelstein tries to be frugal whenever he can. Monsieur Bonnefoy probably would've given you a free meal but you'd have to be on Monsieur Edelstein's extremely good side for special treatment like that."

"Oh, you knew Mr. Bonnefoy?"

She nodded, "oui, I've been here for a long time now. When I was younger, I used to help out in the back, and whenever Monsieur Bonnefoy came in, he treated me wonderfully. He even brought in Alfred and Mathieu to keep me company a few times!"

* * *

_June, 1884_

_The blond poked his head through the door, careful to keep the flowers on his head from falling, "Sesel, ma chère, es-tu là ?"_

_She perked up excitedly, nearly dropping the fish in her arms, "Monsieur Bonnefoy! Bonsoir!"_

_Spotting the girl at the far end of the room, out of everyone else's way, he smiled and stepped into the room, two little boys with little matching wreaths of flower on their heads, following him closely, single filed. "Bonsoir. Let me guess, you caught that fish?"_

_Nodding eagerly, she displayed her catch to the man, "maman said it's the biggest catch yet! We're going to cut it up and serve it to customers tonight, right?"_

"_That's right, and I'll make it so delicious I'm sure they'll gobble it all up within minutes! Ah oui, I have a bit of a special job for you today, ma chère. It's something only you can do."_

_Widened eyes blinked, "what is it?"_

_Stepping to the side to reveal the little boys behind him who were looking around in awe, he gestured to them, "Meet Alfred et Mathieu. Ce sont mes fils. I decided to show them my workplace but it seems that it'll be a busy night tonight, so do you think you could keep them company? You three can stay in Roderich's office, I'm sure he won't mind as long as you don't mess things up…too badly."_

_From behind him, the boys began tugging at the man's sleeves, eyes wide in wonderment, "papa, this kitchen is like a __**million**__ times bigger than our kitchen at home!"_

_Francis grinned, "of course Alfred, that's because a million people work here. It's not all mine."_

_The blond boy frowned in protest, "But you're the __**best**__! Why would they need other people?"_

"_Because I can't do all the work myself, mon cher. That's not how a restaurant works. This place used to be smaller but too many people wanted to eat here so we made it bigger. Besides, these people here are wonderful cooks."_

_The other boy with the doll looked up, "This place is really big, papa…you won't get lost, right?"_

_The Frenchman paused before laughing, "don't worry, Mathieu, your papa helped design this place and he's been working here for a long time now."_

"_Yea, don't worry Mattie! Even if papa gets lost, I'll go find him 'cause I'm a hero!"_

"_Oui, c'est vrai," he turned to her, "alors Sesel, do you think you're up for the challenge?"_

_Enthusiastically, she put the fish away and washed her hands before returning with her hand outstretched, "bien sûr ! Hello Alfred, Mathieu, I'm Sesel!"_

_Alfred took her hand without hesitation and pulled his brother along, "I'm Alfred! And this is Mattie! Did you really catch that fish by yourself?"_

"_Oui, I did! Let's go to Monsieur Edelstein's office, I'll tell you all about it there!"_

"_And I'll teach you how to make flower wreaths! Bella and Lars taught us how!"_

_Mathieu turned around hesitantly, "papa?"_

_The man encouraged the boy with a wave, "go have fun mon cher, papa has to get to work. I'll come check up on you three in a bit. Make sure Alfred behaves, and please keep this safe for me, okay?"_

_The boy took the wreath with his free hand and smiled, "Okay!"_

* * *

_Later in the night, after dinner, while they were playing made up games in the office, Francis walked in, "how are you holding up? Did you like dinner? The fish came out rather nicely, non?"_

"_It was very good!"_

_"Yea, it was awesome," Alfred chirped happily._

_Just then, a man called out to the chef, "Monsieur Bonnefoy, Monsieur Kirkland at table 1 sends his compliments."_

_The Frenchman blinked, "oh? Kirkland?"_

"_Oui, they're the one that ordered the fish."_

"_Ah, probably aristocrats," he smiled, "well Sesel, it seems they thoroughly enjoyed the fish you caught. I suppose I should go out and thank them. But before that, I came in here to ask you three what you wanted for dessert."_

"_The Alf and Mattie Special," the louder boy immediately blurted._

_She looked at the two questioningly, "what's that?"_

"_It's the Alf and Mattie Special! It's got ice cream on top and maple syrup drizzle and this um, I don't know what it's called…but you have to try it, Sesel! It's really good! It's a secret recipe! Papa made it just for us, right, Mattie?"_

_His brother nodded in agreement, echoing his brother, "Yea! It's really good, Sesel!"_

_The girl was still confused but went along with it, "yea, it sounds really good! I'd love to try it!"_

_Francis smiled, "The Alf and Mattie Special it is then! I'll be back with it in une minute, mes chers."_

* * *

_February, 1899_

"We had dessert then the next thing I knew, Monsieur Bonnefoy was waking me up, telling me that the place was closed and my parents were waiting for me. Did you know him as well, monsieur?"

His head snapped up in attention, "huh? Oh, in some ways I suppose I did. I believe I got a taste of that special that night."

Sesel smiled, "ah, so you were the little Kirkland boy he made the forth Alf and Mattie Special for. And you were sitting right outside when all this happened? Who would've thought? Suddenly, this world seems a little smaller than it used to, don't you think?"

"Yes, I absolutely agree. That was the only time I met him, so clearly I didn't know him as well as you did. Though I don't think we would've gotten along very well anyways, it's the natural English-French tension, you see," he spoke while paying for his meal…and Roderich's much to his annoyance.

The waitress nodded understandingly and collected the bill, "you could be right but I'm sure Monsieur Bonnefoy would've enjoyed a healthy debate every now and then. I should probably get back to work before Monsieur Edelstein scolds me. Thank you for eating here, we hope to see you again soon!"

Nodding, he got up, "yes, thank you, everything was delicious." And as he left, all he could think of was how close he'd been to the family that night. They were all under the same roof, eating the same dessert. He had a chance to meet the boys while they were still alive but didn't.

Sesel was right; the world suddenly seemed rather tiny.

* * *

_April, 1899_

Before meeting up with Roderich, he swung by the cemetery again. But this time, he managed to catch the little ghost standing by his papa's grave, placing a kiss on it just as he began to fade. As he approached, from under his bumbershoot, he could see a new wreath adorning the tombstone, though this time, the flowers were in bloom.

Once at their rendezvous point, he looked at his pocket watch and frowned, "that aristocrat's late…"

After awhile later, the brunet finally appeared, "hello, sorry I'm late. Ludwig didn't wake me up in time and I couldn't leave without eating something first…"

"No, no, it's fine," he sighed, gradually getting used to the Austrian's leisurely pace. "So shall we be off?"

Roderich nodded and began walking down the street, "Yes, of course. It's this way."

* * *

Rounding a corner, they entered a quiet building. The brunet turned to him, "it's not the biggest bank but it definitely has the best security system."

They walked up to the teller, a small blonde with a ribbon in her hair. She looked up and smiled, "hello, how may I help you today?"

Before he could state his business, Roderich nodded, "Guten Tag, Lilie."

She blinked, "oh, Herr Roderich! Guten Tag…Bruder ist-"

Then another blond appeared with a rifle in his hand, "_Was_! Roderich? Why are you here?"

Arthur took a step back in shock while the Austrian merely pushed his glasses up, "Guten Tag, Vash. I was just wondering if you and Lilie would like to join me for dinner tonight."

The woman smiled, "we'd love to. That sounds very nice, doesn't it, Bruder?"

And unable to say no to the blonde, he scoffed, "…whatever. I guess, but I'm only eating with you to save my money! Frugality is the highest of virtues!"

"You haven't changed in the least," the aristocrat sighed lightly, "but there's another reason I'm here. Mr. Kirkland here has a key to one of your boxes."

Perking up, Arthur quickly reached into his pocket to retrieve the key and handed it over to the blondes. The Swiss took it and looked at it from the side for a moment before shooting him a skeptical look, "isn't this Bonnefoy's key?"

Roderich nodded, "yes but I'm afraid he's no longer with us and since Mr. Kirkland here is currently living in Francis' house so all of Francis' old belongings technically belong to him."

Vash didn't look convinced, "but wasn't this key with the boy?"

The two of them exchanged confused looks, "the boys both passed away in the fire, along with Francis."

The blond shook his head, "come on, you can leave your things here with Lilie," he muttered, leading them to the back and down a flight of stairs with a lamp in his hands, "a boy came with this key and opened the box years ago, and I'm pretty sure it was after the fire."

He furled his brows, "that's not possible. Both of them died that day."

"I never get my clients mixed up," the Swiss frowned, "I'm telling you, it was one of the Bonnefoy boys."

* * *

After walking through several cell doors and empty rooms, they finally reached the vault. Opening it up, they stepped inside. Grabbing a notebook from the side and lighting another lamp, the blond handed one of them over to the brunet, "Your box number's 0701. It's on your left, ninth from the end and fifth from the bottom."

Roderich looked impressed, "you certainly know your vault."

"That's because it's mine," the shorter man growled as he began looking through the pages.

Finally finding the vault, the pair inserted the key and unlocked the box with a 'click'. Pulling the metal door, Arthur reached in and pulled out a thin parcel. Under the lamp, the two inspected it closely. The paper wrapping was creased and wrinkled from being stuffed with whatever contents were inside and on the front, Francis' elegant writing clearly stated '_Pour Alfred et Mathieu'_. However, as they moved to open it, they faced the startling revelation that it'd already been opened before. Sticking a hand into the opening, he frowned, "it's empty."

The Austrian shot him a confused look, "what? How's that possible?"

From behind, Vash let out a victorious 'ha!' and walked over, "I was right. Someone opened this box before."

"Well, that'd definitely explain why the package is empty…" Arthur muttered grimly.

"I remember the boy coming in here with a pack. He didn't stay very long so he must've taken whatever was in there and left." The Swiss narrowed his eyes as he scanned the piece of paper in front of him, "let's see, according to my records, box 0701 was opened on the 14th of September in 1888 by a 'Mathieu Bonnefoy'."

* * *

Nya~

I updated in a week! And it's a long chapter too! After staying up till like 1 every night to type, it more or less paid off! So, fun history tibits time! Earl Grey tea was named after the second Earl Grey, a British Prime Minister in the 1830s. Story has it that a grateful Chinese bureaucrat who was saved by one of Earl Grey's men presented the blend to him, never mind the fact that the guy had never been to China before. Bumbershoot is just another word for umbrella, back in the Victorian Era, common people rented their umbrellas while nobles owned their own though obviously, it wasn't as conventional as it is now. After it made the switch from wood to metal, they found that the bumbershoots were rather hard to close when wet. What else? Rifles. They were invented sometime in the 15th century and were improved significantly during the 18th and 19th century when rifled muskets overtook the muskets. Chocolate pyramids are the most amazing desserts ever, they're absolutely mouth watering, at least the ones I've had were. If there's anything that needs to be corrected, please let me know! Anyways, thank you readers and love you reviewers lots and lots! Enjoy!

**_Translations_**:

_**Es-tu là ?** - _Are you here? (Fr)_  
**Ce sont mes fils **- _They're my sons (Fr)_  
__**Bien sûr **- _Of course (Fr)___  
**Guten Tag **- _Good day (Ger)___  
**Was**? - _What? (Ger)


	10. Chapter 9

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 9:

_April, 1899_

The two of them frowned, "Matthew? That's not possible! He died in that fire!"

_I saw his ghost this morning!_

The Swiss shook his head, "Well clearly _your_ sources are wrong because it says right here that he opened the vault 11 years ago. And written records don't lie."

Not wanting to anger the blond with a rifle slung behind him, he changed the subject. "Have you heard from him ever since?"

"No and I don't see why I would've. You said it yourself, there's nothing left."

Arthur huffed. He didn't like feeling useless. He especially didn't like feeling useless when confronted by a logical and armed man. "But that still doesn't explain how a dead child could've come in here, opened up a safety deposit box, took all its contents, signed for it and left! Where would he have taken it to, his grave?"

Roderich placed a hand on his shoulder, "of course not, you idiot. You should know that dead people can't do these things. Let's discuss this somewhere less dark."

"Wait, you two have to sign for this first."

He sighed in exasperation, "Right…"

* * *

Once the three of them returned upstairs, Roderich crossed his arms, "I don't believe neither Vash nor Lilie will be able to help us with this so why don't we leave them to their business. I will see you two later this evening for dinner."

The blonde nodded, "yes, of course. Thank you for coming by, Herr Roderich. Will you be alright finding your way back?"

The Swiss immediately protested, "Don't get friendly with that guy!"

"But Bruder…he's just like you."

"Don't say that!"

Quickly nodding goodbye, the pair returned to the streets. "Do you actually believe the lad rose from the dead and came to open the box?"

The Austrian shot him an unimpressed look, "I find it highly unlikely, Mr. Kirkland."

In return, he frowned, "How'd you know I'm living in the Bonnefoy house anyways? I don't believe I've ever told you."

Roderich gave an unhelpful shrug, "It wasn't exactly hard to find out, at least not with the connections I have-where are you going?"

Opening his bumbershoot, he began making his way down the street, "I'm going to try to get to the bottom of this! Enjoy your dinner!"

Left alone, the brunet pushed his glasses up as he looked around the bustling streets, "oh dear…let's see…now how to get back home…I'm pretty sure if I walk this way…"

* * *

Although he'd boldly stated his intentions, he actually had no idea how he was going to 'get to the bottom' of things. Feeling more and more frustrated, he tried to think back to anything he might've missed, any patterns he overlooked…suddenly perking up, he hailed a carriage and left.

* * *

The blond in front of him merely stared blankly, "I'm like, totally not understanding what you're trying to ask."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, "like I said, you told me last time that you still saw one of the Bonnefoy boys around every now and then, correct?"

Feliks nodded, "Yea, that was like, the secret that I told you. So what about it?"

"I just wanted to know if you meant you saw a child who reminded you of the boys or if it was actually someone around your age."

Toris leaned in and whispered something into his friend's ear causing him to perk up, "oh, I totally get it now! Why couldn't he just have like, said it the what you did, Toris? I'm like, not really sure since I haven't seen the guy around recently. I've only seen him like, a couple times before, you know? But he wasn't dead or anything, since that'd be totally gross. Ghosts are like, totally not my thing, you know? They're just like, ew!"

He raised a brow, "Can you remember if he reminded you more of Alfred or Matthew?"

The blond shook his head, "I like, wouldn't have been able to tell either way! Those two were super identical, like seriously, to the max! Only their papa would've been able to like, tell them apart. Anyways, the last time I saw him, he like, totally turned around and booked it! Isn't that like, totally rude?"

The brunet looked at him curiously, "is something going on, Mr. Kirkland?"

"Not that I know," he laughed weakly, "sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on you. I was suddenly overcome with curiosity and happened to be in the neighbourhood at the time, that's all, really."

Though the younger man appeared unconvinced, he nodded slowly anyways, "I see, well, would you care to come in for tea?"

He shook his head, "I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a rush you see, perhaps next time. Thank you for your help though!"

"Oh, alright…good luck on whatever you're doing."

Feliks crossed his arms, "if you're like, that curious about whether they're alive or not, why don't you just go to the guy that found them? Must've been totally gross though, I mean like, really, finding bodies? That's just super gross."

Arthur stared at the other blond, "you're right. I can't believe I didn't think of that..."

"It's because I'm like, a super genius, you know?" Then, bored, the younger man pulled his friend back inside, "Bye then. Come on Toris, I'm like, totally going to braid your hair, okay? It's going to look super cute, like seriously, to the max!"

* * *

So on his way back home, he came across the fire brigade's office and decided to step in. Inside, a familiar little girl was talking to one of the men, "but daddy, Sebo only has one more newspaper to sell then he can play!"

"But Wy, love, I've already bought 2 earlier! A Times _and _a Post!"

The brunette frowned, "But _daddy_, it's not much! Just one more then I can stop bothering you! Peter's waiting for us! And it's raining! Are you really going to make them wait in the _rain_?"

Giving a sigh before smiling, he handed the girl a coin, "fine, here you are. Make sure you're home by supper though!" With the girl gone, the fireman turned to him, "oh, g'day, mate. Sorry about that, how can I help you today?"

He took a step forward, "hello, Arthur Kirkland. Do you think you can direct me to someone who can help me fill in a couple blanks in regards to the large fire of 1888? It's about the death of the Bonnefoys."

The brunet pulled his lips taut, "don't tell me you're another one of those bloody reporters, are you? With the way they skewed my words last time, I'm surprised you even need to come back for more information; you might as well just make the whole story up."

"I'm not a reporter, actually, I'm a biographer, I happen to be writing a book on the Bonnefoys. I have several other titles that have been published under 'Kirkland' if you must know," that was only a partial lie. His father had written books before, a few copies had even been published but they weren't exactly appropriate for the general public and so, they're only found on the shelves of demon worshipping nobles. But the man didn't need to know that. "As a writer, I pride myself in getting my information straight from the source to ensure accuracy of course."

The fireman raised a brow before slowly grinning, "Alright, you've got me convinced, mate. I'm Steve, by the way. Pleasure."

Arthur nodded and shook the brunet's hand, "pleasure. So about the Bonnefoy case…"

"Yea, I was there fighting the fire and I was the one in charge checking that poor bloke's place for bodies. Probably the worst job I've ever had to do, found a boy's body along with his dad's, you know? The poor thing, must've been no older than Wy."

At this, he blinked, "a boy's body? What do you mean? I thought there were two."

"That's right, I found two of them. The boy and his dad's."

He shook his head, "No, I meant, I thought there were two boys that perished in the fire."

The brunet frowned, "where'd you hear _that_? Is that what they're churning up nowadays? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at all! No, I'm telling you, those reports are absolute fakes. I was in there and there were only two bodies, a child's and a man's. I would've known if there was a third. I even specifically told those reporters there were two bodies, those idiots."

As he stood there, he could feel the base of his investigation crumble. Running a hand through his hair, he began thinking back. Alfred was clearly haunting his house as were Matthew and Francis. If that was the case and there were only two bodies recovered, where was the third? And who opened the box? "This just keeps getting more complicated," he muttered to himself, "I'm never going to figure this out."

The other patted him on the shoulder sympathetically, "have a Times, mate. I'm sure whatever's wrong will go away with time."

He sighed, the problem was that they wouldn't. "Thank you for your time, sir."

A cheery smile, "Anytime! Have yourself a nice day!"

* * *

Although determined to do something once he got home, much to his horror, he found his parents' carriage there, waiting for him. "Bugger," he muttered under his breath as he walked up to it. Poking his head into the carriage, he frowned, "hello mother, father…" nothing the flash of red, he turned to his brothers, two of them redheads and one of them blond, "and brothers…all three of you."

The three of them grinned back him almost menacingly, "hello Arthur."

"What's going on?" He was almost afraid of the answer.

"Arthur, dear," his mother began, "your father and I found an absolutely fascinating ritual but I'm afraid we need more participants so we need to take you away from your precious little house for a little while."

His father merely looked over at him and gestured for him to get in, "Come along now and don't make a fuss."

Reluctantly dragging himself into the private coach, he took a sullenly seat next to one of his brothers and stared out the window almost longingly, which earned him a confused look from Lars as they rode past his tulip garden. "Where are we going?"

The woman smiled, "you'll see. You know, you told me that you bought a charming little house but I never imagined you meant charming as in 'haunted by Francis Bonnefoy' charming. But I must say, I _do_ approve of your taste in spirit companionship. Even as a ghost, he's as handsome as ever, that man."

Green eyes blinked as he looked at his mother. They shouldn't have been around. The Frenchman already appeared in the morning. He picked up Matthew by the door and disappeared into the kitchen. He'd watched it happen. "You saw him? What about the boys?"

She tilted her head slightly, "Boys? I'm afraid I must've missed them. Oh dear, am I losing my touch?"

His father shook his head, "nonsense, of course you're not."

His brothers snickered and cooed mockingly, "our poor little Artie's stuck in a haunted house with a French family!"

Their mother frowned, "now, now, let's not cause Arthur any trouble. He's a grown up now, just like you three so it's time to start treating him as such. Besides, that French family was absolutely lovely."

Arthur raised a brow, trying to ignore his siblings, "you've met them all before?"

"And so have you, don't you remember, dear?"

He shook his head, "I'm afraid not. I only remember eating at the restaurant…"

The woman looked up in thought, "It was when we were at the station returning from…now where was it again? I don't remember anymore but that's quite alright, it's irrelevant to the story anyways. We were returning from somewhere, probably to visit one of your brothers, and we lost you at the station. Apparently you stumbled across Mr. Bonnefoy and his boys who'd just returned from a trip to Paris. You still can't recall anything? Well from what I recall, I believe you got along rather well with those boys…"

* * *

_February, 1885_

_Although the sun was still up and the day still bright, he could barely feel his fingers anymore. "Mama, where's our ride?" When he received no reply, he looked around only to realize that his parents had suddenly disappeared. Desperately lost and alone, he began running around the station when he spotted a familiar looking blond with a pair of boys. _

_Unsure of what to do, he approached them._

_While he was freezing his toes off, the Bonnefoy family looked quite comfortable in their new scarves and gloves. One of the boys was chatting excitedly, "so when can we go give Bella and Lars their gifts, papa? These gifts are so awesome!"_

_The man laughed, "mon cher, you've been around Gilbert too much. You're starting to talk like him!"_

"_But it's really awesome, right, Mattie?"_

"_Yea, they are," the other boy smiled from behind his crocheted toy._

_The Frenchman was the first to notice him. The man shot him a quizzical smile, "bonjour…ah, I remember you, you're the boy who came to the restaurant! Are you alright?"_

"_I'm Arthur," he muttered. Although he felt flattered that the infamous chef remembered him, it didn't change the fact that he was lost and cold and __**miserable**__, "and I don't know where my parents are."_

_Francis frowned lightly, "mon dieu…well they can't be far off." He stood there in thought for a moment before patting him on the head reassuringly, "don't worry mon cher, I'll go find your parents for you, alright? You just stay here with my sons until I get back, okay?" _

_He immediately turned on his defences, "i-it's not __**that**__ bad! It's not like I can't take care of myself! Don't treat me like a child, you're probably only a couple years older than me anyways! I'm not __**actually**__ lost, cold or hungry or anything since I'm not a child, you know? So don't treat me like one!"_

_Raising a brow, the man laughed, "of course not, monsieur, I would never! What I meant to ask was whether or not you'd be able to keep my boys company while I go look for something, that's all." _

_Arthur's frown lightened, "well I __**guess**__ I could…"_

_Then Francis turned to the boys and placed a kiss on each of their heads. And while watching, for a moment, he wished he was part of their family…full of kisses and hugs and other normal family things. _

"_Now Alfred, Mathieu, make sure you stay here alright? Roderich's carriage should be here soon and we wouldn't want to miss our ride, oui? So stay here and make sure you play nicely and listen to Arthur here since he's the oldest, d'accord?"_

_The two nodded in agreement, "d'accord!"_

_As he turned, the boy with the crocheted toy called after him, "papa, wait!"_

_The Frenchman turned around, "oui, Mathieu?"_

_The child held his doll out, "h-here, to keep you safe! Alf's here with me so we'll be okay!"_

_The man nodded and accepted the doll with a smile, "merci beaucoup, mon cher."_

* * *

_After Francis left, the boy with blue eyes held a gloved hand out, "Artie, right? I'm Alfred and this is Mattie! It's nice to meet you, right, Mattie?"_

_A friendly smile_, "_Oui, enchanté."_

_Arthur furled his brows in distaste at the name as he shook their hands, "Artie? Um, nice to meet you two too…are you two twins?"_

_Alfred gave a carefree shrug, "Maybe, we never found out. But either way, I'm older."_

_The other blond frowned, "Alf, that's not fair!"_

"_Don't worry about it, Mattie!" The boy grinned before turning back to him, "what's wrong? You look upset. Why don't you tell us about it? I mean, we're all friends, non?"_

_Reluctantly, he nodded, but where to start? He was lost, cold, hungry, and he had brothers who were ready to torment him at any given opportunity and his parents summoned demons… "I'm really cold," he muttered lamely._

_The brothers exchanged glances before Alfred took his gloves off and offered them to him, "They're too big for me so you can have them, Artie."_

_His eyes widened at how easily they were offered, "I couldn't…what about you?"_

_Alfred laughed, "Don't worry about it." As though reading his mind, the other twin immediately handed one of his own gloves over to his brother. The two turned back to him, ungloved hand in ungloved hand, "see look, and my coat's got a really big pocket if our hands get cold! Put them on Artie, they'll make you a little warmer, right, Mattie?"_

_Nearly moved to tears, he did as he was told._

"_D-do they fit," the quieter boy asked._

"_Yes, they fit perfectly, thank you…" he mumbled, staring at his shoes._

"_Aw, don't cry! Your tears will freeze and that won't be fun at all!" Then, already bored, Alfred immediately launched into a different topic, "oh, guess what? We just got back from Paris! You should see the gifts we got for our neighbours! They're really nice so we went and found them gifts! Oh, and we went to see papa's mum and dad! Papi and mamie! And we found a really big old hat! It was black and had really soft feathers sticking out of it and stuff! We had papa try it on and papi said he looked like his great, great, great…"_

_Mathieu continued for him with an excited smile, "great, great, great, great grand-papa!"_

"_It was super awesome! Oh, hey Artie, do you have any brothers or sisters?"_

_He nodded rather sullenly, "I have three older brothers. They make fun of me all the time but it's not like I need any help from anyone or anything because I've got it under control!"_

_The other boy looked shocked at his confession, "what? That can't be right! Older brothers are supposed to be awesome! Gilbo told me so! Tell you what, if I ever see them around, I'll make sure they stop bugging you, okay? 'cause I'm a hero, right, Mattie?"_

_The blond dipped his head in agreement, "C'est ça, Alf's a hero! But um, I-I'll try to help too!"_

_Inwardly, he couldn't believe he was going to be defended by someone younger than him but smiled at the idea that someone was willing to do that for him. "Alright, next time, but it's not because I need your help or anything, alright? It's only because I don't want you two feeling silly or anything, okay?"_

_The twins merely smiled back, "okay, Artie, if you say so. So what else do you do? I mean, we go out and play all the time! And sometimes we get to visit papa at work! What about you?"_

"_Well I…"_

* * *

_The three of them continued their lively conversation until his mother appeared with the Frenchman, "Arthur, dear, there you are! We thought you were kidnapped! Thank goodness Mr. Bonnefoy came and found us! How can we ever repay you, Mr. Bonnefoy?"_

_The man merely shook his head, "it's nothing, I'm always happy to help out beautiful mademoiselles in need."_

"_You flatter me, sir!"_

_Almost disappointedly, he turned to the younger boys, "I have to go now. I guess I'll talk to you two next time-b-but it wasn't as if I enjoyed it that much! I was just here to keep you two company because your dad asked, that's all!"_

_Unfazed, the two smiled, "please come find us to play some time, okay?"_

"_We'll be waiting, Artie!"_

"_Oui," the Frenchman stood next to him, "thank you very much for keeping Alfred and Mathieu company. Perhaps you wouldn't mind doing it again sometime?"_

_Trying his best to not look to eager, he shrugged, "I suppose I could…"_

_Francis nodded, "merci beaucoup, until next time then." He turned to the younger twin and returned his toy, "here Mathieu, Kumajiro did a wonderful job of protecting me. Merci."_

_The boy looked pleased as he took his doll back, "de rien, papa."_

_Alfred tugged on his jacket, "hey Artie, if you want to visit us, me and Mattie will draw a map for you so you'll never get lost around our house, okay? We'll get it to you somehow! We're really good a drawing! And our neighbourhood's full of really nice people, right, Mattie?" His brother smiled and dipped his head. "We'll take you to go meet all of them when you come visit, okay?"_

_Nodding enthusiastically, he replied, "okay! I mean…fine, I guess."_

* * *

_He waved goodbye as he followed his mother towards their carriage. "You seemed to be having fun with those boys."_

_Arthur shrugged and crossed his arms, "I was just keeping them company like the mister asked me to."_

_His mother glanced over, "where'd you get those gloves?"_

"_Oh, Alfred and Matthew gave them to me, I should…" he turned back, ready to return the gloves but he found that the three had already disappeared. His shoulders slumped slightly, "they're gone…"_

"_Don't look so upset," the woman spoke gently, "I'm sure you can return those to them next time, alright?"_

_The idea of there being a next time cheered him up slightly, "Yea, next time…"_

* * *

"That family was so delightful…I wish we got to meet them again. Why didn't we again?"

His father frowned, "the week after was when _that _happened."

The woman nodded understandingly, "ah yes, I remember now. We had to move to a new house, didn't we? _That_ really was quite terrifying, wasn't it?"

"Don't worry dear, I'm sure it'll go better this time."

She smiled, "Yes, I'm sure it will."

Looking out the window, he sighed, "huh…I kind of wish I remembered this sooner."

"And why's that, dear?"

One of his brothers began snickering, "looks like little Artie misses his one-time friends. Maybe he fancied one of them?"

And that was enough to get the other two started, "Maybe he fancied the twins?"

"What if it was the French man?"

"Oh, that's always a possibility!"

Slouching in his seat, he groaned, wishing the Bonnefoy boys had kept their promise and told his brothers off. His mother tsk'ed and gestured for him to sit back up, "come on now, young man, don't slouch. It's bad for your posture. You're a gentleman now, so you should at least sit like one."

* * *

Nya~

I hate when I edit and something messes up and nothing _saves_! Curse you technology (please don't delete my work)! The only historical tibit is that gloves were popular because apparently there was something against physical contact between men and women during the Victorian Era? Polish people actually have one of-if not _the _highest average IQ in the world! I didn't have time to look more interesting things up... Early on in this chapter, I actually had writer's block when my train of thoughts collided with my truck of 'things I have to get done'. There was a huge mess and the roads had to be blocked off for nearly half a day but luckily, there were no casualties, just minor injuries. So I'm sorry if this chapter's choppy. But other than that, I _will _let you know that this fic is drawing to a close. For those of you who are fed up and wondering if this will ever end, yes it will so don't yea... Though I'm not entirely sure if I'll be able to update next weekend since I have a super hectic schedule coming up where I have something due or a test or whatever on 4/5 days next week so staying up super late to type doesn't seem like a viable option. Uhh...yes Arthur was super tsundere as a child. His brothers are Scotland, Ireland and Wales, and if you want a mental image of his mother, I'd suggest thinking something along the lines of Sharon's grandmother from Pandora Hearts (somewhat sadistic, but always with a smile, just like a real lady). And Steve...it just had to be 'Steve'. Anyways, thank you readers and love you lots and lots reviewers! Enjoy!

Oh, and if you're worried/wondering about what happened to Roderich. About half an hour later, Lilie sent Vash out after him. He was found and brought back to the bank where he spent the rest of his afternoon trying to convince the two that he wasn't lost.


	11. Chapter 10

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 10:

_August, 1899_

Somehow the whole mess had ended up taking months to clear up so much to his dismay, by the time he got home, it was already the end of July. A few days later, he'd gone over to visit his neighbours again only to find the elder sitting in the parlour with a different pair of Asians. He and Bella watched from afar as the three discussed whatever business they had. The blond looked indifferent as always as he spoke to the duo, "I thought you two were supposed to be stationed in France. Really, of all days for a surprise visit like this…"

The woman with the long ponytail had her legs crossed, and when she spoke, she had a slight French accent-much to his surprise, "we're here to visit our relatives and Yao needed Kiku at the shop today so he sent us instead. But anyways, about that shipment…"

Lars tapped his pipe thoughtfully, "it's on its way. Shipping things from Asia takes more than a day, you know? Tell Yao he's being too impatient. I've been planning out a new route that'll be two to three days faster than this current one, I'll show you guys when it's ready. And yes, I know you guys have been waiting for awhile now. I'll make sure it gets to you guys as soon as possible but you really need to be a little more patient. I don't exactly appreciate people randomly barging into my house."

The man with glasses laughed, "it can't be helped…you're our main transporter after all. Our business heavily relies on you. We need to keep up with our clients' demands or we'll start losing profit."

From the doorway, Bella whispered to him, "don't worry, they should be leaving soon. That guy over there's the bookkeeper for whatever company they're from and that woman's from the French branch. Broer always has to deal with random visits like these."

True enough, minutes later the two got up, "we'll be back another day to check out this new route of yours then. Thanks for your time."

The blond got up and escorted them to the door, "sure, later then." Then he turned to them, "you two can come in now. So what brings you here, Kirkland? It's been awhile. The last time I saw you, you looked like you were being forcefully taken away somewhere by someone."

He let out a nervous laugh as he recalled what happened that day, "that was my family…they're not all that bad, really."

"Whatever you say," the man let out a puff of smoke.

Bella pushed him towards the chairs with a cheerful grin as always, "take a seat! Lux came by to visit but you missed it! But aside from that, what have you been up to? Mr. Edelstein came by and told us about what happened at the safe-broer, sit down!"

Lars let out a grunt and plopped himself onto the couch.

The woman turned back to him, "is it true that Mathieu had been there?"

Arthur nodded, "that's what it said on the paper…and there's more…"

"And?"

Unsure of how to start, he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "Well, I went to the fireman who was in charge of recovering the bodies. And he told me that there were only two bodies…"

Lars frowned, "Are you trying to say that one of the boys may still be alive?"

He nodded slowly, "well, you did say that you felt like you still saw one of them around at times…"

There was a long pause before the blond man exhaled another mouthful of smoke, "oh…"

Bella and he immediately turned and stared at him curiously, "oh?"

"Oh," the man repeated.

The woman frowned, "broer, why haven't you ever told me about seeing the boys?"

A shrug, "because I never thought anything of it. We watched the house burn down, Bell. But now that you mention it…that boy…I wonder if it was actually one of the boys."

Green eyes blinked, "What makes you say that?"

"Because I talked to him once."

The younger pair tensed, "_what_? What'd he say?"

A shrug, "Not much really."

* * *

_August, 1895_

_He was walking down the street when he made his way past the Bonnefoy house. An uncomfortable silence always settled over him when he walked past the building. But on that particular day, there was a boy, a teenager, standing in front of the house and staring at it. Raising a brow at the unusual sight, he made his way over, "hey kid, is something wrong?"_

_The boy turned around, eyes widening as he took a step back, "La-ah…n-no, nothing's wrong…mister…"_

_Taking a smoke, he scoffed, "Really now, you look like you're about to cry. Here, have a tulip." He'd been planning on placing it in front of the house like he did every year but a mild change of plans didn't bother him._

"_Oh! Thank you!" The blond shook quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeves, "there's really nothing wrong, mister. E-excuse me, I have to go. Thank you for the flower though, they're as pretty as always," the boy muttered and ran off as fast as his legs could carry him._

_Watching the teenager disappeared; he turned back around and headed back home, "weird kid…"_

* * *

Bella was glaring at her brother now, "How was that _not much_? That could've been Mathieu!"

"But it was several years after the fire and he didn't have his toy with him. Besides, how was I supposed to know? I thought they were all dead."

Arthur sat there in thought, "what was his toy's name?"

The siblings shot him a strange look, "I'm not sure, he could never remember it…it was something like Kuma…Kuma…Kuma-something."

"Oh…it's the doll those two were looking for…" he muttered lowly to no one in particular.

"What?"

He sat up and quickly shook his head, "n-nothing, I'm just talking to myself, that's all! Sorry…"

The woman smiled, "don't worry about it. But speaking of the boys…their 11th anniversary's coming up soon, isn't it…?"

Arthur tilted his head slightly to the side, "that's right…if you don't mind me asking, what do you normally do to commemorate?"

"We normally go to the cemetery with Antonio and them, that's about it though. Mr. Edelstein keeps the restaurant closed in memory of Monsieur Bonnefoy and we all spend the day at his house. Would you care to join us this year?"

He politely declined, "it's quite alright, I'd rather not intrude. I really wasn't close to the Bonnefoys like all of you were after all."

Bella patted his shoulder reassuringly, "we don't mind. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us."

"Yes…thank you…" he found it strange how he was able to meet so many people and make so many acquaintances because of the Frenchman's death. In a way, he felt almost guilty, feeling as though he'd taken advantage of the tragedy. Then he mentally reassured himself that it was all the French ghost's fault for haunting his house in the first place and left it at that.

* * *

The days continued rolling by until one day, he woke up unexpectedly to the sound of voices downstairs. Quickly getting out of bed, he ran down the stairs only to see a new scene unfurl before him.

The Frenchman and one of the boys stood by the door. Retying his hair and adjusting his bangs in the mirror by the door, the man straightened the sleeves of his shirt and looked down with a smile gracing his lips, "I'll be back soon, mon cher, so be good. And Alfred, remember, let Mathieu sleep. The more sleep he gets, the sooner he'll get better, non?"

The boy gave an enthusiastic nod, "yea, then we can go play tag! Oh wait, Mattie's always too slow...we can go play hide and seek outside!"

The man laughed, "That's right, but make sure you stay inside the yard next time, poor Mathieu spent hours trying to find you last time. You're lucky Bella found you asleep in her tulip bed or who knows what would've happened," he chided lightly.

Alfred huffed and placed his hands on his hips, " I would've been fine, papa! I'm a hero, remember?"

"Oui, oui, I remember very well. Anyways, I'm afraid I must be off or I won't be back in time for lunch." Leaning down, he planted a kiss on the boy's head, "make sure you behave now."

"Of course, papa," he smiled innocently, "do you think I'd be able to play outside-just in the yard, I promise! This way, I won't disturb Mattie and he'll be able to sleep as much as he wants!"

After a pause, the blond shook his head, "désolé, mon cher, I'm afraid I'm going to have to say no this time. You have to take care of your brother, non?"

Shoulders slumping, the boy gave an exaggerated sigh, "Fine, but only for today…until either Mattie gets better or till you get back, whichever happens first."

"That's a good boy. Je reviens dès que possible," the man smiled and disappeared through the door.

Stunned, he continued standing there, watching Alfred sulk. But after awhile, the boy perked up as though noticing that his father had left and past him and up the stairs, "I wonder if Mattie's awake."

* * *

Following the boy up into the children's room, he looked around in amazement when he realized that the room had completely changed. The place was fully decorated. There were toys and books lying messily on the ground. And there were two beds lined up side by side against the furthest wall. He watched as Alfred run up to the other blond in bed and whispered, "Hey Mattie, are you awake?"

When his brother didn't respond, the boy jutted his lower lip out into a pout before plopping himself down in the middle of the room to amuse himself with his toys. Then, a little while later, he grew bored and grabbed his coloring utensils and began scribbling colourful marks on the walls. But it didn't take very long for him to grow tired of that as well. Sitting and staring at his sleeping brother, he sulked, "I'm bored, Mattie, why'd you have to be sick today? I wonder if Bella and Lars want to play…" then he paused, "oh wait, papa said no…"

Letting out another loud sigh, the boy continued to play by himself until he finally couldn't take it anymore. Getting up, he walked over to his brother and told him quietly, "it's too boring in here, Mattie, I'm going outside. I'll be just outside if you need anything! Papa should be home soon to make lunch, okay? So just keep sleeping."

Smiling, Alfred then ran out of the room and down the stairs. He could hear the door closing and the house went silent again.

* * *

Left alone with the sleeping child, Arthur frowned, wondering why this particular phenomenon had never happened before. But then he realized what day it was and pulled his lips taut. It was the 11th anniversary of the Bonnefoys' death. Everything that he'd just seen was what happened on the last day of their lives.

Quickly running around the house, he began exploring the rooms, staring in awe at how much the decorations had changed. In his room, the Frenchman's bed stood where his was supposed to and on the nightstand next to it, he found photographs of the family of three and of the people he'd met because of the man's death.

Downstairs, the kitchen was neatly lined with utensils and ingredients that'd been prepared before for what he assumed would be their lunch. And on the dining table, there was a vase full of tulips in the middle, probably gifts from the siblings down the street. A strange sadness settled over him and a part of him wished that the fire had never happened just so the happy little family would still be around. If he'd actually contacted them after that day, he could've witnessed everything he saw now. The professional looking kitchen of a chef, the flowers from friendly neighbours…he could've helped Alfred draw on his walls…he could've received the map he found a lot earlier…it _was _supposed to be his either way.

The house remained quiet for a long while until there was a sudden loud noise from outside. Confused, he thought back to what he knew.

"_**The cause of this fire appears to be a ruptured gas pipe which sent forth an explosion so large that the house itself, not a brick remains on another."**_

He could feel a chill go down his spine though he reminded himself that nothing could actually happen to him. Making his way upstairs, he attempted to wake the sleeping child but found that his hand passed through everything. His heart continued racing, "come on, lad, you need to get outside, the fire's probably spreading! Where's Alfred when you need him?"

It didn't take very long for the roaring of flames to be heard as they made their way towards the house. All the noise caused the boy in the bed to stir. He sat up tiredly and rubbed his eyes sleepily, "…Alf?" Looking around, slightly confused, the child began looking for his brother, coughing now and then from his illness, "Alf? Where are you?"

A little alarmed, the boy made his way out of the room and down the stairs, still calling for his brother. Arthur frowned and called out to the boy even though he knew it was futile, "he's outside!"

The flames had already began licking away at the side of the house and smoke could be smelt when Mathieu looked around fearfully, clutching his nightgown tightly, "Alfred, where are you? We have to get out of the house…"

He followed in horror as the boy wandered towards the kitchen when the windows suddenly burst from the heat and a quiet shriek of horror could be heard. Minutes later, the door burst open and the Frenchman's voice could be heard, "Mathieu!" Heavily footsteps made their way up the stairs only to run back down a moment later, the man's normally composed voice laced with panic, "Mathieu?"

The boy in front of him coughed as the smoke began filling his lungs, "p-papa?"

As the Frenchman ran down the hall, he suddenly shouted to someone, "No, stay outside!"

A moment later, the blond appeared, relief immediately washing over his features as he spotted the boy, "papa..."

He quickly picked the child up and began heading back when a burning beam suddenly fell from above, blocking the doorway he'd used and the one leading to the parlour. Taking a step back nervously, he continued muttering reassurances to the boy while looking for an alternative exit. The dining room was also ablaze which meant they were trapped. Covering his nose and mouth with a sleeve in attempt to keep himself from inhaling the smoke, he held his son close, "Mathieu, ne t'en fais pas mon cher, tout ira bien…"

Mathieu buried his face into his father's shirt, coughing weakly from the fumes, "is Alf okay, papa?"

"Oui, Alfred's outside waiting for us. We mustn't keep him waiting," the man spoke, suppressing his own coughs, "you'll be alright, Mathieu…"

Arthur watched helplessly as the boy stopped responding. The Frenchman seemed to have noticed it as well as he began walking towards the windows, clearly intending on saving the child somehow but with the amount of smoke in the room, he didn't make it before his legs buckled and he fell to the floor, unconscious. Eyes wide, he stared as flames began drawing closer to the bodies. Quickly turning away, he covered his eyes with his hands and waited for the scene to end.

* * *

There was no way of telling how long he stood there for but eventually, the sound of the flames died out and someone stepped into the house. Removing his arms he watched as a younger version of the fireman he'd talked to before stepped inside cautiously. He didn't have the courage to turn around when the brunet stepped past him into the kitchen. A moment later, he could hear a heavy sigh, "oh dear lord no…"

Still he didn't turn around.

It wasn't until an unexpected voice called out to him, imploring surprisingly gently, "if you don't leave soon, you'll miss him…mon petit's has gone to him, but that boy can be stubborn to a fault sometimes. Please…go bring mon fil home just one more time."

Afraid to turn around, he asked quietly, "you know who I am?"

There was a slight smile to the other's voice, "oui, the first customer to try the Alfred and Mathieu Special at my restaurant, how could I forget you? You've grown up quite a bit since then… Je suis désolé, I should've greeted you first, I suppose."

At that moment, he wished for nothing more than to have been part of the Bonnefoy family, wished for the warmth he still felt from them, the closeness that he lacked in his own family, as much as he loved them and their demon-summoning ways. "I…I'll bring him back here, I promise."

"Merci beaucoup…"

Arthur gave a start when he felt a hand on his behind and quickly whirled around angrily, but when he did so, he found nothing there. He was back in his own house during his own time. "Ugh, you're such a stupid perverted…_Frenchie_!"

* * *

Quickly leaving the house, he made his way down the street to find a ride when a cheery voice called out to him, "are you heading down to central?" He blinked and looked at a passing carriage only to see a familiar looking salesman grinning at him. Nodding, the man immediately gestured for him to get on, "you can catch a ride with me then!"

Getting on, he dipped his head, "thank you."

"Don't worry about it, the more the merrier, right?"

The stoic blond next to the man looked unimpressed, "how annoying, bror."

"I don't get it..." the youngest boy muttered.

The taller blond merely laughed, completely unfazed by the others' words, "Is that so? Oh, did I tell you? I came across this kid about your age, no, younger, while I was in the neighbourhood earlier and I thought he was lost, I mean, he was just standing there and staring at your place."

Arthur sat up in interest, "did he say anything?"

Mathias shook his head, "Not really, he just looked surprised when I told him it'd been sold. I'm going to guess he wasn't an acquaintance of yours?"

"Actually, I'm going out to find him now."

The blond smiled, "I see. Well, make sure you cheer him up when you see him, he was looking kind of down, you know?"

* * *

They let him off a few blocks away from the cemetery. After thanking trio, he began jogging over to the graveyard though he _was_ a little horrified by the fact that he began running out of breath after the first block. But he continued and finally, reached his destination, completely out of breath. Stepping inside, he made his way towards the tombstones he'd etched into his mind. And though he was expecting it, he was still completely off guard by the presence of a tall blond standing in front of the Frenchman's grave.

There were various new bouquets of flowers adorning the graves, probably from Roderich and company's visit earlier; though what he took notice of the most was the fact that there was a single rose laid in front of the Frenchman's and Mathieu's graves but none in front of Alfred's.

And at next to the blond, the ghost of a little boy stood there, placing an unnoticed flower into the pocket of the young man's jacket, "don't look so sad…I'm right here. Why can't you see me? I'm right here…please don't cry."

He could feel something tugging at his heart as he watched.

_…even after 11 years, he's still crying for them…_

So concentrated on the scene before him, he nearly tripped over another grave, catching both the ghost and the blonde's attention. Turning around, the young man quickly wiped his tears away and stared at him, "s-sorry, I didn't notice you there. Are you here to pay your respects as well?"

Unsure of what to answer, Arthur nodded and muttered, "y-yes, I am…" Then stepping next to taller man, he stared at the grave. He could feel his nervousness building up, unsure of what he was supposed to do in such a situation, "sorry, I didn't mean to intrude…"

The young man shook his head, "no, this is a public place." He could make out the faint traces of old French and English accents in the other blonde's words as he spoke. Holding a hand out, the taller man introduced himself, "I'm Mathieu Williams. It's nice to meet you."

* * *

Nya~

Why does ff dot net hate me? I swear, I lose everything I edit at least once per chapter. Well anyways, surprise, surprise! I actually started typing this while procrastinating throughout the week, then after I finished my last test (of the week) on Friday, I got home and typed until I'm not sure when and ate I'm not sure how many Godiva chocolate pearls but damn they're so, so, so, _so_ good. Et voilà ! Un nouveau chapitre ! It's weird how much easier it is to type and edit a 3000+ word chapter than it is to write a 1000 word paper though in the end they're both just a bunch of words held together by periods and commas (and maybe semicolons). In regards to fire...it takes a person anywhere between 2 to 10 minutes to go unconscious or die from inhaling smoke...and you know, being trapped in a burning building. Anyways, on a less morbid note, happy upcoming (Canadian) Thanksgiving! I'm kind of braindead at the moment so yea... I really need to stop eating these chocolate pearls! Anyways, thank you readers and much love, reviewers! Enjoy!

_**Translation**_:

_**Ne t'en fais pas mon cher, tout ira bien **_- Don't worry my dear, everything will be fine (Fr)


	12. Chapter 11

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 11:

_August, 1899_

_The boy with blue eyes held a gloved hand out, "Artie, right? I'm Alfred and this is Mattie! It's nice to meet you, right, Mattie?"_

Holding a hand out, the taller man introduced himself, "I'm Mathieu Williams. It's nice to meet you."

It was so _wrong_.

Before he could stop himself, he began shaking his head, more out of shock than anything, "no you're not…what are you doing, Alfred…?"

Caught off guard, the young man in front of him immediately tensed up in surprise for a moment before smiling questioningly, almost innocently, "what? Excuse me?"

He would've doubted himself if it wasn't for the little ghost clutching onto the man's jacket who was staring curiously at him. Arthur frowned at the other blond, wishing he'd thought of something to say before starting this conversation, "why are you using your brother's name-and don't pretend otherwise, I know it's you, Alfred."

The other's smile faltered slightly, "I-I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

Changing tactics, he gave a cold shrug, "Well, if you're not Alfred, explain why you only left roses at Bonnefoy and Matthew's graves. And if you're not Alfred, then you wouldn't care if I told you that Matthew's body's buried under Alfred's grave."

Alfred visibly flinched at the information and didn't even try to hide his disbelief as he stared at the tombstones, "what?"

"That's right, the only people who knew that only 2 people died in that house 11 years ago was Alfred, who survived, and the person who found the bodies, not that he could tell who the child was. So unfortunately, because the only person alive who knew that the boy inside was Matthew was Alfred…I guess they just tried their luck and buried the body under Alfred's grave instead, the poor lad." Inwardly, he couldn't help but feel a bit like a detective after having said all that.

Finally, the smile completely disappeared as sombre blue eyes watched him warily, "why do you know all this? Exactly who are you?"

"My name's Arthur Kirkland."

There was a pause, then realization seemed to dawn on the other, "Arthur…wait, you can't be serious, Artie? You're Artie from _that day_? The one that me and Mattie drew that map for-ah…" he quickly covered his mouth when he realized what he'd just admitted to. Shrugging off his blunder, he asked, "How'd you know it was Mattie in house that day and not me? The only person who's even been able to tell us apart was papa and he's gone."

"I had my ways," he purposefully skimped the details about seeing his family's ghosts and _his _ghost in front of his house. Shaking his head, he continued, "But more importantly, why are you using Matthew's name when you could've just change your surname?"

Walking over to the empty grave, he picked up the rose and then made his way over to 'Alfred's'. Placing it down gently and running a finger over the etched letters, he sighed sadly, "because that's all I have left of him…I…I'm not even a good enough brother to honour him by using his name. I have all this stuff papa left us…but Mattie…he was always just _there_. He was always with me and I couldn't stand not having him around…using his name keeps him near me. It makes him feel a little closer…"

His eyes softened as he spoke gently, "but he's gon-"

"But he was my twin!" Angrily wiping his tears with his sleeves, Alfred frowned, "you wouldn't know what it's like, losing someone who's been with you all your life! I had Mattie with me even before we were born! He was my twin! He was mine! I-I was supposed to be Mattie's _hero_! I _promised_ to be there for him! But do you know what I did that day? I not only broke one, but _two _promises to both Mattie _and_ papa! And now they're gone! I'd told papa I wouldn't go outside to play but I did, I left Mattie alone while he was sick and went outside, and when the fire started, I was too scared to go back in-if I'd never left or just gone in earlier they'd…they'd still-"

"Come now, you don't know that for a fact," Arthur spoke as reassuringly as he could, "it was an accident, no one could've predicted what would happen that day."

"We could still be together, alive and _happy_ right now if it wasn't for me! If I stayed inside like I was supposed to, I could've gotten Mattie out and papa would've never had to run in to save him. It's all my fault," he couldn't stop himself the tears from overflowing now, even as he tried desperately to dry them with his sleeves, "you have no idea what it was like standing outside calling to them…knowing that your family died because of you…"

* * *

_August, 1888_

_The house was on fire._

_He'd only gone a couple houses down to explore, to collect interesting things in his pack to show his brother, but when he returned, the house was on fire. Quickly running to the front door, he swung it open. He would've run in if there wasn't smoke everywhere. He would've run in if his feet weren't rooted to the spot from fear. The flames were roaring and eating away at everything inside when he finally snapped out of his reverie and called to his brother helplessly from outside. There was no reply._

_His insides were going numb from fear and dread as he continued crying for his twin. Suddenly, from behind, a familiar voice called to him, "Alfred!" _

_The child turned around, "papa…"_

_The Frenchman held him tightly and kissed him on the head, "Alfred, mon Alfred chéri, thank goodness you're safe." But then he looked around a little frantically, "Alfred, where's Mathieu?"_

_He shot the man a frightened look, "H-he's still inside…"_

_Francis swore silently to himself, "stay out here and no matter what, don't come in," he ordered before dashing inside._

_After a minute of anticipation, he began shuffling his feet, "papa? Mathieu?"_

_The fire brigade was making its way down the street towards the fire and a crowd was starting to gather._

_He called to them again, louder this time. _

_Then, from a little down the hall, he managed to make out his father's figure and took a step closer, "papa!"_

_The blond turned around and yelled back, __**"****No, stay outside****!"**_

_Taken aback, he quickly took a step back. There was a loud crackle from inside and still no sign of his father or brother. He couldn't tell how long he'd stood there but suddenly, there was a sharp pang in his chest and a feeling of emptiness. _

_He knew then that Mattie was gone. _

_The realization left him rooted to the spot. And too stunned to retaliate, he let himself be pulled away when a woman from the crowd scurried over and took his arm, "come away, dear, it's dangerous!"_

"_B-but-"he couldn't get any other word out of his mouth._

_Hidden in the crowd, he just continued staring at the house knowing that it wasn't his home anymore. The numbness hadn't gone away. But one by one, tears began trickling down his cheeks, and he began crying. Unnoticed by the adults looming over him, his sobs were drowned out by the murmuring crowd and the deafening roars of the fire. _

_He cried, knowing that he'd never get to play with his brother again. _

_He cried, knowing that he'd never get to eat his father's meals again. _

_He cried, knowing that he'd never see or hear them again. _

_But mostly, he cried, knowing that he'd just lost the two people he'd loved most in the world._

* * *

_At one point, he could see Lars' tall figure pushing to the front of the crowd with Bella in tow. They began asking the crowd what'd happened and just as the man was getting ready to run in, he was held back by his sister. The two began arguing when part of the roof collapsed. _

_Although the thought of calling out to them had crossed his mind, he couldn't will his voice to work. Every time he opened his mouth, only choked sobs for his papa and Mattie came out. And in his mind, the only word he could hear was 'gone'. Mattie and papa were gone and it was all his fault._

_When the crowd dispersed, he was pushed and pulled along with the crowd until he ended up in a different part of town altogether. Too afraid to return, the last he saw of his house, the fire had died but the smoke was still rising from the ashes. And in front, his favourite neighbours continued standing there, staring at the house, not knowing one of its inhabitants was still alive._

* * *

The young man was sitting in front of his tombstone, hugging his knees and staring blankly at the slab of stone. "There isn't a single day that goes by where I don't think about it…I-I miss them, you know? I miss Mattie and papa. I hate being on my own but there's no one left. It's not fair…Mattie and papa didn't deserve to die."

"Alfred…" He took a step towards the other. What he saw was a child who was forced to grow up but didn't know how to. It took all his self-control to stop himself from breaking into tears as well.

He paused as he watched the crying ghost try desperately to get his brother's attention, "but we're still here, Alf, me and papa are still here! Why can't you hear me? Please, before you go far away again…I just want to talk to you…"

Remembering the flower the ghost had placed into the other's pocket earlier, he called out to the other hopefully, "Alfred, look in your pocket," when the young man shot him a strange look through his tears but dug out the flower, he paled slightly. "You find one in your pocket every year, don't you?"

The other blond looked shocked, "How'd you know…?"

Arthur rubbed the back of his head hesitantly, "How do I say this? Have you ever thought about how that flower might be your brother's way of trying to show you he's still here?"

"Arthur," Alfred shot him a questioning frown, "I think you have some explaining to do."

* * *

Slowly, he did his best to explain the situation to the other about the haunting in his house. "…and Matthew's still around, and he's the one who's been slipping flowers into your pockets all these years."

The young man had stopped crying and was just sitting there, frowning in disbelief, "what? That can't be. It can't be Mattie. He's dead. And even if he was around, he should be throwing things at me instead. It's my fault he died, and before that, the last thing I did was hide his favourite toy from him and put it in the piano only Rodney's allowed to touch…he never even knew what happened to it. Is that why he's haunting me? If _I_ were Mattie, _I'd_ hate me."

Unbeknownst to the other, the ghost shook his head fervently, an apologetic expression on his face, "b-but I don't! I'm sorry Alf, I didn't mean to-I just wanted to see you! …me and papa miss you…a-and papa's worried about you…I wish you could hear me…I'm sorry Alf, I have to go now…please come home…we're still there…" the child's voice grew softer as he slowly faded.

Trying his best to focus on the figure in front of him, he sighed, "do you really think that? You knew Matthew best, would he really hate you?"

Guiltily, the blond shook his head, "No…Mattie doesn't know how to be angry or hate people. He's more likely to apologize than to get mad, even if it wasn't his fault…that's just how he is. Even when I hid his toy from him, he asked me if I'd seen it and I told him no, and you know what he did? He apologized and went to look for it somewhere else. He trusted me, and I lied to his face. He trusted me, and I left him alone. Only Mattie wouldn't hate me for everything I've done."

"I think…the only person that hates you is you. What happened was purely an accident that no one could've predicted. Don't you think it's time you forgive yourself? And you're not alone, at least not in London; there are still people here who haven't forgotten you. Every year, they come here to commemorate…don't you think they deserve to know that you're alive and safe?"

Alfred stared at his feet miserably, "I can't…I can't face them knowing I'm the only one who survived, knowing that it was my fault."

He gave an exasperated sigh and massaged his temple, "It wasn't your fault, get it through your thick skull already! It was an accident! I'm sure your papa's just glad you're safe! If they really were mad at you, I'm sure you would've noticed it! Ghosts don't stay very quiet when they're upset! But clearly I can't convince you without proof, come back to your old house."

The other blond looked hesitant, "B-but I've got to get back to America…"

Annoyed, he snapped, "Don't give me excuses, Alfred Bonnefoy! You have to listen to me since I'm the oldest here! Look, I'll give you a day to reflect but you better show up the day after tomorrow!"

Blue eyes averted eye contact as he sulked, "do I really have to…?"

With a scowl, walked over and flicked the other on the head, earning him a whine of protest. "Yes, and now you're going to tell me which hotel you're staying at in case I have to come drag you out of your room to face your ghosts."

Uttering the name of his accommodations, Alfred continued sounding reluctant, "but…"

Arthur sighed, "Listen, lad, I can reassure you that your papa and Matthew aren't mad at you. If anything, seeing that you're alright and doing well will probably help them move on, and hopefully, you'll be able to move on yourself. I mean, if you think about it, your papa didn't have much to regret…he had a lot to be proud of. He did what he loved, had a world-class reputation and opened a very successful restaurant, and he took in a pair of orphaned boys and raised them as his own. He led a quiet family life with good neighbours, great friends and loving sons. What more could he have asked for?"

The other frowned and retorted, "What about Mattie? What did he have to be proud of? He was only _9_."

He thought about it for a moment before responding, "Well, for one thing, he had a brother and a father that loved him very much. And I'm sure he was very proud of the fact that he had a hero for a brother."

Alfred laughed darkly, "That's just mean. You've grown up rather cruel, Artie. I'm not a hero, not anymore. What kind of hero lets his family die while watching from afar? There's no reason for Mattie to be proud of me."

Patting the younger man on the head, he sighed sympathetically, "I'm not going to get into this argument again, and self-pity doesn't fit you very well. Even if you're not a hero, you're still Alfred Bonnefoy, aren't you? They just want to see you again. And what kind of son would go against his father's last wish? What kind of brother would leave his twin behind worried? It's getting late; I'll leave you with that thought. But if you don't show up, I _will _come drag you over there," he spoke and made his way towards the exit.

"W-wait!" The blond called after him before fidgeting anxiously, "look, I don't know if I actually believe you, your story or in ghosts in general…but you're _sure_ Mattie and papa, they're not mad at me, right?"

He nodded and smiled, "I promise you, they're not."

* * *

_September, 1899_

The next morning, he walked over to the piano and opened the cover only to find a dusty crocheted doll lying inside. Taking it out and dusting it off, he coughed and tried to wave to the dust away. "That's just absolutely delightful," he muttered dryly and brought it towards the doorway. Placing it by the door, he smiled to himself, "there, the lad should have no problem finding it now."

* * *

Afterwards, he made his way back to the cemetery and rubbed the back of his neck. With no one else around, he began muttering to himself, "He better make things easy for me and show up tomorrow…"

Then a small voice spoke, "um, hello mister…"

He blinked and looked down to the see the little ghost standing by the graves with a doll in his arms, "Alfred, what are you doing here?"

Hiding his face behind his toy, he shook his head, "I-I'm sorry, I'm Mathieu…thank you for finding Kuma…Kuma…Kumagoro?"

Green eyes blinked again, "Oh, of course, Matthew, sorry, I don't have the faintest clue why I called you Alfred. And it's no problem, think nothing of it." Glancing up, he noticed that someone had chiselled off Alfred's name on the tombstone and crudely etched in 'Mathieu' on top of it. He smiled, "looks like Alfred corrected it for you…"

The child turned to see what he was looking at and nodded, "h-he stayed here for a really long time to do it…Alf…he's trying but I think he needs another push…please help him…and um…because we can't really do much, and papa says Alf probably won't believe your story, he wanted to pass a message to you for when you go get Alf tomorrow."

The Englishman had to lean in to hear most of the quiet boy's words. "And this will convince him that I'm telling the truth?"

Mathieu nodded, "papa said it would. Please bring Alf home…"

Arthur tried to pat the child on the head only to have his hand pass through air. Withdrawing his arm, he dipped his head, "I'll do my best."

The blond smiled, "merci beaucoup, Artie."

With the weight of grief tugging at his already heavy heart, he could only reply with silence.

* * *

Making his way home, he blinked when he saw a familiar figure standing in front of his house, just staring. The child took a deep breath and took an unsure step towards it, then another, but with each step he took, his resolve wavered more and more until finally, he stopped halfway.

He continued watching the child and realized that he was probably the part of Alfred that couldn't move on, a figment of his guilt. "Alfred…"

The boy turned to look at him, sniffling, "mister…"

Arthur crouched down, "what's the matter, lad? You looked like you were doing just fine."

The blond shook his head, "I-I can't do it! I'm scared!"

Though he wanted to hug the boy, he knew he'd just pass through him like his hand had through Mathieu, so he smiled reassuring, "it's alright, I'll help you through this, okay?"

Alfred watched him with wide, trusting eyes, "really? You promise?"

A nod, "I promise."

* * *

Nya~

Damn it ff dot net, why must you screw up at least once every time I'm trying to edit a new chapter? If anything looks super off, I swear, it's not my fault, I even had to pull out my very basic html skills in attempt to fix this. Yes, anyways, sorry for the late update, I couldn't get this chapter sounding the way I wanted it to and surprisingly enough, I didn't have time to procrastinate on my homework and cramming for upcoming midterms so it took awhile to type this. Teddy bears weren't technically invented until 1902 I believe, so Kumajiro is a crocheted toy which doesn't really suit its name but then again, it shouldn't have a Japanese name in the first place so whatever. I tried to keep this chapter a little lighter, not sure how well that worked...not sure how well this chapter is overall, actually. The internal gauge I use to judge my work died when I was editting my really crappy paper that I threw together for school and it has no time to recover since I have another one due in a couple days, so that'll be out of commission for awhile. Anyhow, please bare with me for a little while longer! Thank you readers and love, love, love you reviewers! Enjoy!


	13. Chapter 12

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 12:

_September, 1899_

Trudging through the streets and the endless throngs of people, he finally found his way to the hotel. At the front desk, he managed to politely as for Alfred's room number before storming up the stairs, earning him strange looks from the staff. Mentally, he had an image of himself kicking the younger man's door down but instead, he rather civilly knocked on the slab of wood separating him from his target. Inside, he could hear shuffling, though no one replied.

He vaguely wondered if Alfred was trying to hide from him by not replying. "Hiding from people doesn't work when you're stomping around your room like a horse, you idiot," he muttered to himself before clearing his throat and knocking again. This time though, he called out in a higher pitch, "Mr. Williams," he spoke in his pseudo-woman voice, "your breakfast-"

"_Oh, it's you! Just give me a moment,"_ more shuffling and footsteps approaching the door, _"sorry, I thought you were someone else for a minute. I'm avoiding someone so don't give anyone my room number, okay?"_

Cross his arms, he asked, "Who are you trying to avoid, sir?"

The doorknob turned, "_just this person I saw the other day…"_ the words died on his lips the door opened.

Arthur frowned as the blond poked his head out, "you mean me?"

The young man blinked and began looking around, "yes, but what happened to the nice lady that brings me food? Wasn't she just out here a moment ago?"

He let out an indignant huff, "That was me, you idiot!"

Alfred stared at him incredulously, "what? No, I mean-wait, what do you mean that was you? You tricked me? No way! I could've sworn the lady was out here thou-"

Impatiently, he kicked the other back into the room, "just get back inside, you dolt!"

* * *

The blond was pouting as he plopped onto his bed, "I can't believe you tricked me like that! That's just mean; I can't believe just how mean you've grown up to be! Hasn't anyone ever taught you that you should never tell people you have food when you don't? You're a horrible person!"

"Well what else was I supposed to do? You were avoiding me," he grumbled unhappily, taking a seat on a nearby chair. Looking around at the cleanliness and the packed luggage, he frowned, "packing up so soon? Didn't you just get here?"

"Yea, but like I told you before, I have to get back to America," the other explained, shuffling towards the far side of his bed so that he could lean and rest against the wall.

Glancing at a pile of things on the desk, he leaned over and found several sheets of paper, photos, and a thin leather book. "What is all this stuff here?"

Blue eyes glanced up at the ceiling, "that's the stuff papa left us. I got it from the vault before I left but I guess you already know that." He began flipping through the photos of the trio in amazement. And without looking over, the young man spoke, "those photos were from the last time we went to Paris. And there's a letter from papa."

Arthur blinked and put the book in his lap to examine the piece of paper, "may I…?"

Alfred shrugged and let out a sigh, "go ahead, it's not much of a farewell letter, more of a story really. He was so sure me and Mattie would be together, that nothing would happen to the two of us…"

Unfolding the page, he began reading…

_Mes chers,_

_I always thought about telling you this story myself but I couldn't figure out how to tell it or whether or not you'll want to hear it. I want to leave the choice with you. This is the story about two little boys, twins actually. Alfred F. Jones and Matthew Williams…_

Raising a brow, he couldn't help but ask, "Alfred F. Jones?"

"Yea, papa went and found our…history I guess you'd call it. We were named after mama's favourite people in the world. I was named after my father-he was a really awesome war hero, you know? And Mattie was named after our grandfather who died when mama was little," Alfred explained, waving his hand offhandedly, "it's all there in the letter, papa was better at phrasing it."

Skimming the rest of the letter, his eyes fell upon the last line.

…_no matter what, remember that you two will be my beloved Alfred and Mathieu…_

Wanting to ignore the sullen mood he was in from reading the letter, he picked up the book, "and what's in this book?"

The young man pulled his lips taut, "it's what papa left Mattie. It's a book with all his recipes because Mattie's the one who could cook. I was never able sit still long enough to actually learn."

"He must've spent a lot of time and effort on these…" he muttered in awe as he flipped through the pages of recipes, each carefully handwritten with notes jotted underneath.

_Make sure you don't add to much salt._

_Serve with melted chocolate for Alfred and maple syrup for Mathieu._

_You'll know it's done when it becomes a clearer colour._

_For the freshest fish, go find Sesel._

Alfred smiled proudly, "you know, papa never really needed recipes, he always just went and made things and they always ended up perfect. Rodney said that papa was so good, he could tell when a dish was a pinch of salt from perfect. Mattie hadn't reached that level yet, but he could make really good crêpes."

He couldn't help but smile at himself when he realized that the first two sections were separated into each of the boys' favourite dishes, "he really knew your taste, didn't he?"

"Yea…you know," Alfred let out a loud sigh "I was really hoping to avoid you."

Turning his attention to the other, he raised a brow, "Why?"

"Because I don't feel like crying again! And I just know I'm going to end up crying again today-maybe even several times. My eyes are still swollen from the other day, you know," the young man let out in an annoyed tone, "do you know how hard it is to navigate around a crowded city like London with your eyes all puffed up? And what are you supposed to say when people ask if you're alright? 'Oh no, I'm fine! You see, I've just been _bawling_ _my eyes out_ for the past day,' is _that_ what I'm supposed to say?"

He shook his head, "I'm afraid I don't know and sorry for being rude but I don't care. Look, you're coming with me to the house whether you want to or not then I'll leave you alone for the rest of your life if that's what you wish."

Looking at him, Alfred frowned and crossed his arms defiantly, "I don't want to. You know, after thinking about everything, I don't think I believe your story. First of all, I don't believe in ghosts, I mean even if you _can_ see and talk to them like you say you can, how do I know you're telling the truth? I mean, especially since this is concerning papa and Mattie, where's your proof?"

Mentally, all he could think about was how impressive it was that the Frenchman still knew his son enough to predict his actions though he'd died long ago. Giving a heavy mock-sigh, he had to stop himself from chuckling, "you know, I was told this would happen. I guess you haven't actually changed that much over the last 11 years, especially if a ghost can predict your moves. If you want proof, fine, I've got proof. It's a message from your papa, actually. Apparently it's supposed to convince you."

Although obviously sceptical and perhaps a little nervous, the blond raised a brow and turned to watch him curiously, "oh? And what is this message?"

Clearing his throat, he tried his best to recall the exact words Mathieu had passed onto him yesterday, "Let's see…'_my brave-eyed Alfred, you must've been on so many adventures now, when will you come home and tell us about them?'"_

After finishing, he glanced up only to see the other staring at him, sapphire eyes wide with shock, "those were papa's words…"

* * *

_February, 1884_

_Pulling the door open, the two stormed into the house, "papa! Papa!"_

"_Ici, mes chers," a voice called from the study. Making a sharp turn, he began running the other way with his brother in tow. Once they made their way to where the Frenchman was, the man turned his chair away from his desk to face them with a smile on his lips, "oui? You two look excited. Come tell papa what happened."_

_Scampering so that he was resting his hands on the man's knees, he beamed, "We met new neighbours! And they were really nice," he nearly yelled in excitement. "We were playing explorers in their yard and they came out and played with us, right Mattie?"_

_The other boy nodded in agreement, "y-yea, Bella and Lars…they were really, really nice! They were…they were…"_

"_Dutch!" He filled in for his brother. "They have tulips in their garden!"_

"_Yea, they were Dutch! But Bella speaks French! And they know Antonio and Lovi, papa!"_

_Grinning, he continued eagerly, "And then-and then, and then we came up with a new game because they couldn't tell us apart! We'll show you! Okay, close your eyes and count to 5 then try to tell who's who!"_

_Amused, the blond man did as he was told and covered his eyes, "un…deux…trois…" as he counted, Alfred and Mattie were trying to decide who would stand where. "Quatre…cinq." Uncovering his eyes, Francis studied them for a moment before rubbing his chin in mock-thoughtfulness, "who's who indeed…mon dieu, you two are practically identical!" The two of them giggled in anticipation as the man continued to study them closely. "Aha," their father suddenly exclaimed and picked Mathieu up and placed him on one lap, "voici mon Mathieu," then he was picked up and placed on the other, "et voici mon Alfred."_

_He pouted, "aw, how come you can always tell us apart? No one else can, right Mattie?"_

"_Yea, papa's the only one who can tell," his brother chirped in agreement._

_The blond merely laughed good-naturedly, "Il est très simple. Mon Alfred is the one with brave eyes. He's always off on an adventure and he always comes home with stories to tell. That's how I can tell."_

"_Brave eyes? Like a hero," he asked enthusiastically._

_Their father nodded and tapped him playfully on the nose, "Oui, just like a hero."_

_Mathieu looked up curiously, exercising the little French he'd began picking up, "E-et moi?"_

_The Frenchman turned to the other boy, "Et mon Mathieu is the one with gentle eyes; he's always thinking of other people and he's always the one stopping fights between Alfred and Lovino, oui?"_

_He looked up questioningly, "so does that mean if we close our eyes, you won't be able to tell us apart?"_

_Francis laughed, "mon cher, I'd be able to tell you two apart even if I was blind. Now come on, I believe we were supposed to go pay our old neighbours a visit. You can go tell them about your new friends. I'm sure they'll be excited to hear about how you two are going."_

_Perking up, he hopped off the man's lap and ran towards the door, "oh yea, let's go! I'm going to go tell Toris and Feliks all about them and they'll be so, so, so jealous that we have such awesome neighbours! And Feliks will like, definitely find it __**totally gnarly**__! Come on, Mattie!"_

_His brother frowned as he climbed down the Frenchman's leg, "A-Alf! Wait for me!"_

* * *

"I hate you, Artie."

He gave a start, "what? What on earth did-" he stopped mid-sentence when he found the other looking down, tears running down his cheeks.

"I told you I was tired of crying! Why'd you have to go and make me cry again? I'm going to go _blind _from all this crying! My eyes are going to get so puffy, people will think I got beaten up or I'm diseased or something and it's your fault! I…papa was…" Alfred's lips trembled for a moment before he launched himself at the Englishman. "This is all your fault, you jerk!"

Raising his arms to defend himself as he got tackled to the ground, he yelled back while trying to pull the other off of him, "_my_ fault? I just relayed the message like I was asked to! Who told you to be such a cry-baby? It's not like I _wanted_ to make you cry, if I did, I would've punched you in the face or squeezed lemon juice into your eyes or something!"

"I'm not a cry-baby-ow, no hair pulling!"

"Fine then, you're a _coward_!"

"I'm not a coward! Take this!"

"Ow-yes you are, otherwise you wouldn't be packing up and running away back to America!"

"That doesn't make me a coward! I have a cat to feed!"

"You left your cat to _starve_ to death?"

"No! My neighbour's feeding him for me right now!"

"But you just said you had to feed your cat-ow, ow, ow!"

"I meant…I meant he's lonely without me!"

"Stop making up excuses! Just admit it! You're a coward!"

* * *

After some roughhousing, the two sat silently at opposite sides of the room with their arms crossed and lips pursed. Arthur was the first to break their glaring contest, asking the younger man, "So does this mean you believe my story now?" When the other merely let out a low grumble, he frowned, "Hey, stop muttering to yourself in French and answer me!"

The other merely scoffed and turned his head away cheekily, "Are you going to punch me again if I say no?"

"Yes." He pushed himself off the floor and dusted himself off, "really, I was hoping to do this in a more mature manner but it's impossible to convince you of anything without force, isn't it? Stubborn to a fault indeed," he muttered and walked over to the other. Offering a hand, he frowned, "come on, it'll be fine. I'll help you through this, okay?"

Alfred watched him for a moment before taking the offered hand, "you promise?"

A nod, "I promise."

* * *

As they drew closer to the house, the younger man's pace slowed, his nervousness becoming more and more evident. Soon, he practically had to drag the other towards the house, "come on, Alfred! Are you really going to keep them waiting _forever_? It's just down the block! Pick up your feet! At this rate, we won't get there until next week!"

"But, but, but…I really should be heading back to America and my poor cat-" the blond gave a yelp as he gave a particularly strong tug, causing the two to stumble a little closer towards their destination. But a moment later, their struggle continued.

Arthur looked back in annoyance, "this is ridiculous! Stop being such a baby, Alfred F. Jones! I thought you were supposed to take after a war hero! I'm not seeing any of those traits right now!"

"My name's Alfred Bonnefoy," the American protested loudly.

"Well Alfred _Bonnefoy_ was supposed to be a hero too, wasn't he?"

"That was just an exaggeration!"

He gritted his teeth and continued pulling the other down the road, wishing he was dealing with the child version of Alfred instead. "I'm not going to make those two wait another year! I promised them! Besides, they've already spent the last 11 years waiting for you, worrying about you, wondering about how you are; don't you think that's long enough? They miss you, Alfred and they just want to see that you're alright! It's your chance to see them for the last time!"

Alfred stopped struggling, "I know…that's why I don't want to go. It's because I know it'll be the very last time I get to see Mattie and papa. I used to be able to see Mattie's ghost at the graveyard, but not anymore. At least right now, if they're there waiting for me, I still have a chance of seeing them again…"

Blinking, he paused for a moment before pulling the other down the street, trying to hide his own emotions. "I'm disappointed in you. I remember the first time I met you, you kept telling me about fairness and justice and all that heroic stuff. And now here you are, being selfish and unfair to your _family_ of all people. You had the closest and warmest family I'd ever seen. I probably would've sold my brothers to have a family like yours if I was given the chance…I can't believe you'd do this to them. This isn't fair to them at all."

The blond frowned, "oh no, you're not going to make me cry again, in public no less…" But after studying the Englishman's expression for a moment, he sighed loudly and began walking on his own, "don't _you_ start crying on me now. I've already done enough crying for the both of us. Look, I know you're right. I'm being selfish in every way possible…papa would've never approved of this. He took us in and treated us as his own and now he's still worrying over me…I don't deserve them at all."

Arthur looked over, "Alfred…"

The younger man took a deep breath, "this is the least I can do for them…I may not be a hero anymore but I can still be brave for papa and Mattie, right?"

He was about to complain about how he'd been trying to get that message across for two days now, but he could see the other's stiffness as he walked nervously towards his old home and decided to remain silent instead.

* * *

As they neared, he cocked his head slightly to the side as Alfred's ghost turned to them with a large smile on his face. Then, without a word, he ran towards his adult self and disappeared. Glancing over at the other man, it was obvious that he was oblivious to the child's presence. He sighed and muttered to himself, "I can't believe how much cuter he was as a child…"

Alfred turned around and blinked, "what was that?"

He immediately shook his head, "nothing at all. Are you sure you're going to be alright? You're kind of shaking right now."

Shaking his head, the young man quickly shoved his hands into his pockets, "I'll be fine, I just haven't had to be a hero in a long time, that's all…and I was just thinking about papa and Mattie…they'll recognize me, right? I mean…I've changed a lot these past 11 years. Will I still be able to talk to them like I used to? What if they don't want to talk to me? Will I know what to say when I see them? Will I be able to see them?"

Though he had to stretch a bit, he reached up and ruffled the other's hair, "you'll do fine, Alfred."

"Artie?"

He blinked, "Yes?"

"Your front door's opened, is that normal?"

The Englishman followed the other's gaze and shrugged, "it's probably just them waiting for you."

Alfred laughed softly, "You're a strange one. Most people would probably be worrying about burglars right about now."

Following the other's gaze towards the house and blinked. A small figure had appeared by the door, looking out as he always did. He pointed to the figure that'd appeared by the doorway, "look, it's your brother. Can you see him?"

Immediately, the blond gave a jump and whipped his head towards the house. He remained frozen there for a long time with his eyes wide and mouth agape. "…Mattie…"

Arthur smiled gently before giving the younger man an encouraging push forward, "go on. Best not to keep the lad waiting, he's already been waiting for you for 11 years now after all."

He watched as Alfred inhaled deeply before taking a step towards the house, continuing from where the ghost of his past had left off.

* * *

Nya~

I love this place. I dropped a bunch of personal ID cards (driver's license, school pass, etc) the other day and someone turned them in to some public transit office place! And my midterms are over! So double yay. And I'm almost done with this fic! So I can start on new fics (I've learnt to do things one at a time from past experiences)! What else? Chocolate wasn't actually made for eating until mid 1800s, and the first milk chocolate product was made in 1875 by a Swiss guy. And speaking of Europe, I'll be spending 8 months in Europe next year so for all you on the other side(ish) of the world, please treat me kindly! Other than that, thank you readers! Love you reviewers! Enjoy!


	14. Chapter 13 & Epilogue

Ghost of the Past

Chapter 13:

_September, 1899_

Alfred's eyes widened as he took a step towards the house, his mouth felt dry and he could hear his heart pounding like drums in his ears. So concentrated on forcing his feet to move and while never taking his eyes off his brother in case the other was to suddenly disappear like he so often did in his dreams, he never noticed the change in the house or himself. Once close enough, he found himself looking up the steps in amazement.

The boy was still there.

So, gathering what little courage he had left, he called out to the other, "…Mattie…is it really you?"

The blond at the door gave a jump and stared at him in disbelief for a moment before throwing himself at him, "Alf! It's you! It's you! You're really home!"

Having just been tackled onto the grass by a child, his brows furled in confusion briefly before he realized that he'd shrunk. He was a child again, back when life was still carefree and happy. Then the joy began overwhelming him as he hugged his brother back. There were so many things he wanted to say that it all got clogged in his throat and the only thing that came out was choked silence. So he just held onto his brother as tight as he could, in fear of him disappearing in his arms.

Mathieu blinked and loosened his grip in favour of pushing himself back onto his feet, "Alf?"

He sat up, dazed and still unable to speak.

His brother shot him a worried look, "A-Alf? Ça va ? Please talk to me, Alf…I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to push you like that, you aren't hurt, are you?"

"Ma…Mattie…" Alfred sniffled and looked up at his brother before getting up and pulling the other back into a hug, all his words clumsily tumbling out without order or thought, "Mattie! It's really you! I've missed you so much! I don't like being by myself! I'm sorry I lied to you about your toy! I'm sorry for hiding it in the first place! I'm sorry I used your paint to color the walls! I miss talking to you! I went to America and saw all these really awesome things but I had no one to tell! No one stops me from getting into fights and I still can't cook and every time I say 'right, Mattie' no one answers!"

The other blond patted him on the back reassuringly, though violet eyes were starting to tear up as well, "I-I can answer you now, Alf! D-don't start crying or I will too… You're a hero, remember?"

Studying his brother for a moment, he was reminded of the feeling of guilt he felt whenever he walked past a mirror, knowing his brother would never be able to see his grown up self as he could. He couldn't help but blurt "I'm sorry Mattie, you could've been my age by now…I'm so sorry! Please don't hate me! That day, if I didn't…if I didn't break my promises…this could still be our home right now! We'd still be able to visit Lars and Bella and fight with Lovi! We'd still be able to go fishing with Sesel…I'm so sorry…if it wasn't for me, we'd be home and…and…"

Then an all too familiar voice called out, "Mon cher, what are you talking about? This will always be our home. Our time together here isn't something that can be erased so easily, you know? Now why all these tears? My brave-eyed Alfred's finally come home. I believe it's an occasion that calls for celebration, non?"

He turned to look at the Frenchman who was smiling gently at him, just like in the photos he'd burned into his memories. With his golden hair drawn back into a short ponytail, those shoes, that shirt, it was as though someone had pulled the man straight out of his memories and placed him there.

His throat felt dry as he tried his hardest to hold his tears back, "Papa…" running over and wrapping his arms around the man's waist, he felt himself get picked up, "papa! I'm really sorry, please don't be too mad at me! I know this was all my fault but-"

Francis shook his head and placed a kiss on the top of his son's head, "Don't be ridiculous, it was nobody's fault. Is this what you've been thinking this whole time? Mon pauvre Alfred, you mustn't think of it as anyone's fault, least of all yours."

"But I let you down, I didn't mean to but I did…"

"Non, you could never let me down. You've been trying so hard all these years, how could I ever be upset at you? What happened was an accident, Alfred. On that day, I was just glad you were safe. You must know, these things happen all the time, everywhere, even to the best of people."

After 11 years, he was finally able to ask someone the question that'd been weighing on his heart. With angry tears running down his cheeks, he asked his father, "But why you and Mattie? Of all the people in the world, why you and Mattie? Why were you taken away from me? It's not fair how the world expects me to just move on like nothing happened! How could I? We were so _happy_ once! It's not fair!"

The man smiled softly and soothed back his hair, "mon petit is asking such complicated questions…perhaps this happened to you because whoever arranged all this knew you'd be able to get past it. You are the hero of the house, after all, non? And we all know heroes go through hard times every now and then."

There was a tug at his shirt and he looked down to see Mathieu standing there, "it's just like in the stories papa read to us before bed, Alf. Do you remember what you told me? The hero always comes back, always, always!"

Alfred shook his head and closed his eyes tightly, squeezing more tears out, "but you're wrong. I'm not a hero, I don't want to be one! I just want you and Mattie back! I can't save anyone and I can't get past this! I don't want this to end like I know it will, it's going to hurt too much! I wish the world would just stop turning! Can't you do something, papa?" He was pouting now but he couldn't help it.

The Frenchman merely laughed, "Stubborn to a fault as always, mon cher. We're with you now, aren't we? Now why are you keeping your eyes shut? Do you not want to see us anymore?"

"No, that's not it! It's because this is probably just a dream or something and when I open my eyes, you won't be there. And I've missed you so much, I don't think I'd be able to stand losing you guys again."

There was a shift in weight and then there were smaller hands on both his cheeks, "But Alf, we're really here. It's weird seeing you so quiet."

"Mathieu's right, quietness doesn't suit you very well. As I recall, you were the one who always ran into the house, yelling at the top of your lungs about your latest discovery…" a soft laugh, "that soufflé never stood a chance."

* * *

_April, 1887_

_Wiping his hands on his apron, he turned to his son and raised a finger to his lips, "shhh, we have to be very, very quiet or it might deflate, oui? It should be almost done..."_

_Mathieu nodded and mimicked the gesture, "shhh." There was a large grin on his face as he stared at the stove expectantly, "it's going to be so puffy, papa."_

_Francis smiled, "c'est ça. And once Alfred gets back, we can take it out and start eating."_

_Suddenly, the front door flew open and footsteps made their way towards the kitchen, "papa! Mattie! Guess what? Guess what? I found the awesome-est thing ever! Look! Look! Look!" The two of them winced slightly as the boy entered the room, unable to contain his excitement. "Look! It's awesome, right, Mattie? Oh, what were you guys making? It smells really good!"_

_The Frenchman couldn't help but smile amusedly to himself as he took the deflated dish out of the oven, "it's soufflé."_

"_I thought they were supposed to be puffy, right, Mattie?" Then the other two began laughing and all he could do was furl his brows and shoot them a quizzical look, "what? What's so funny?"_

* * *

"Ah…it seems we don't have much time left."

His eyes snapped open as he was set back onto the ground. He realized that his father was right as he slowly reverted back to his adult self. He began shaking his head and pleading, "Papa, Mattie, please don't leave, I'm begging you. I don't want to be alone again…"

The chef appeared unfazed with his change as he patted him on the head reassuringly, "Now, now, you're not alone; perhaps you should pay everyone a visit and see-"

Francis paused mid-sentence as Mathieu tugged at his shirt and spoke quietly, "excusez-moi, papa."

"Hm?" The Frenchman blinked and set the boy down.

The two watched him run into the house for a moment before returning with his crochet doll. The boy smiled and offered it to his brother, "h-here, Alf! To keep you safe! Me and papa will be fine so please take care of Kuma…Kuma…"

"Kumajiro, mon cher," the chef finished for him.

Mathieu nodded, "oui, Kumajiro," he repeated the name to himself. "Please take Kumajiro, Alf. This way, you won't ever be alone! So please don't be sad anymore, Alf."

Alfred accepted the toy with a grateful sniffle, "Thank you, Mattie. I'll take care of him. I promise." Then he turned to his father as the man picked his brother up, "do you really have to go?"

His father dipped his head before brushing the tears out of his eyes with a rueful smile, "come now, don't be like that…it won't be easy but you'll get through it, Alfred."

He shook his head, "but I told you, papa, I'm not brave and I'm not a hero. I can't be! Heroes don't cry!"

The Frenchman pursed him lips thoughtfully for a moment. "Hm…it seems I've put too many stories in your head. Heroes are human too, Alfred, they face loss and sadness like everyone else, but writers just tend to leave those parts out in storybooks. Besides, how many tears have you actually shed for yourself?"

He blinked though his vision remained blurred, "what do you mean?"

"I remember the first time I saw you, you pushed Roderich over and took the bread to feed Mathieu…you looked so scared but you did it anyways. And when I found you, you were crying but it wasn't for yourself…you just looked at me and asked me to help your brother, I wouldn't have been able to say no even if I wanted to. And even now, every year, when you come back, you cry for us. I think I'd actually feel a little better if you cried for yourself and your losses every now and then, there's no need to be hold it back. Crying won't make you any less of a hero, at least not to us, c'est ça, Mathieu?"

His brother nodded in agreement, "Yea, you'll always be a hero to me, Alf."

They began fading and he was shaking his head and desperately clinging onto his father's sleeve. "No, papa, Mattie…please don't go…"

"Je suis dèsolè, mon cher…this isn't something we get to decide…" His chin was tilted upwards as the Frenchman studied him for a moment. It was then that he realized that they'd become about the same height. The man smiled a little sadly at him, "mon dieu, you've grown up so much already…" He leaned in and placed a kiss on his head, "I'm sure you'll be fine, and I know you'll do a lot in the future, so just be brave for a little while longer, mon petit heroe. Things will get better. I promise you."

Mathieu was waving at him now though he was barely visible now, "bye-bye, Alf."

And just before the pair disappeared, he could hear his father telling him:

"_Come tell us your stories, mon cher, we'll listen."_

Then he was alone again.

* * *

Arthur watched from afar as the young man stood there in silence with his brother's toy clutched tightly to his chest, shoulders shaking as he cried silently to himself. Not wanting to disrupt the other, he merely stood on the sidewalk and waited until the other moved. Letting out a loud sniffle and wiping his eyes with his sleeves, Alfred turned around and stared at him as though to ask '_now what?' _He made his way past the other and into his house, muttering along the way, "come along lad, let's get you inside. You can freshen up and I'll get you a cup of tea. You've been through a lot today."

* * *

Once they rendezvoused in the kitchen, he could see the other marvelling at the renovations, "this is completely different from when I used to live here…"

"Are you alright with, you know, with being in here?" He asked a cautiously as he turned off the stove and prepared the tea, still a little amazed at how well the American was faring.

Alfred nodded, "I'll be fine, I mean…I'm still the hero of this house after all-even if it's just this one house. Besides, I don't want them to worry anymore…" a brave smile, "so I guess I'll just have to do my best. This way, papa and Mattie will be able to rest in peace, right?"

He was touched…not that he'd admit it out loud. Throwing a plate of scones onto the table along with a cup of tea, he hastily blurted, "Y-you do realize I didn't do any of this for you, right? It was actually for me but since you happened to be involved and I felt bad for you, I decided to help you out, that's all! Consider it payback for that one time way back when, okay? I definitely didn't do it for you or anyone else!"

There was a pause before the blond burst into laughter, "papa thanked you, you know?"

Arthur raised a brow, "Me? What for?"

"For bringing me home, I guess. You really helped us out, so thanks."

His face began reddening as he waved his hands and shook his head frantically, "w-w-what on earth are you talking about? I just told you I didn't do it for you, didn't I? I didn't do it for the ghosts either, I mean sure, I might've been caught up in the moment and made promises I wasn't sure I could keep but that doesn't mean I did it for _their_ sake! Really, of all things to misunderstand…"

* * *

After his ranting and the two of them finished their scones, Alfred looked over, "Hey Artie?"

Taking a sip of his tea, he raised a brow, "Yes?"

"I think there are a couple people I should pay a visit to…would you mind coming with me?" Because despite his renewed bravery, he still couldn't imagine doing it alone.

He shrugged, "sure, I don't see why not-don't get me wrong though. It's definitely _not_ for you!"

Alfred shot him an amused grin, "uh huh, got it. You'll be there until the end, right?"

The Englishman paused and set his cup down with a nod, "Of course."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

* * *

Nya~

Finished! Also, unwritten in the story is how Francis rolled in his grave when Alfred commented that Arthur's scones were _'sweet and tasty, just like papa's cooking'_. Yes, anyways, another fanfic done! I hope you found it an interesting read! And hopefully this ending's satisfactory! So I've been thinking about this beta reader thing, I mean, finding one, but yea...maybe I'll try it for my next fic to see how it goes since it's probably going to be a oneshot. I guess I'll see how it goes. Anyways, thank you for reading! And thank you, thank you, thank you for all those who reviewed! Your encouragements were much appreciated! Here's the epilogue and enjoy!

* * *

Epilogue:

_August, 1900_

He was walking down the street towards a familiar cemetery as the sun began setting. Though he wasn't sure why, he felt obligated to visit the graves of the ex-ghostly residents at least once a year. Checking his pocket watch, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he still had plenty of time. He'd promised to join Bella and them for dinner at night as he'd had a meeting with his publisher earlier that day and couldn't join them for their yearly commemoration.

Opening the gate to step inside, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd meet Alfred again. He hadn't heard from the younger man ever since he accompanied him while he visited everyone he once knew to let them know that he was alive. Though their brief but happy reunion was cut short when the young man had to return to America, Alfred had promised to return to catch up with them one time or another.

Just as he neared the graves, he could hear someone talking. Blinking, he looked up to see a familiar blond standing there, making wild gestures as he told his stories to the graves. Immediately coming to a halt, he stood there and watched the young man who had tears in his eyes but a smile on his face as he told his tales. "I wish you guys could've seen how I much I won by! I mean, it was _huge_! It probably stretched from the far end of this place to where I'm standing right now! And then…"

* * *

After he finished his story, the young man turned around and gave a slight jump, "oh, hey Artie." He quickly wiped his eyes with a laugh, "why is it that you always seem to show up when I'm crying?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, "Call it a gift. Are you telling them your adventures?"

A nod, "Yea, I bet I look like an idiot."

"Not really…I'm sure they were there, listening to you."

The younger man shot him a grateful smile, "Anyways, it's been awhile, hasn't it? How've you been?"

"I've been fine, I guess. I'll be having dinner with Mr. Edelstein and company tonight, I trust that you'll be attending as well?"

Alfred raised a brow, "so they invited you too? Yea, I'll be there, actually I was just about to head over. I can't wait to hug Bella and Lars and them, Lovi's going to get so, so jealous," he turned to his brother's grave and asked, "right, Mattie?"

He laughed, "I see, well, let me set these flowers down and I'll join you." Removing his hat and walking over to the graves, he placed the bouquets gently next to the bouquet of tulips, from Lars and Bella no doubt. Then he turned and headed back to the other, "so when will you be leaving this time?"

The American looked amused as his lips curled into a grin, "are you that eager for me to leave?"

Arthur shrugged, "don't you have a cat to feed?"

"If you must know, I brought my cat over from America."

He blinked a couple times, trying to grasp what the other was trying to imply with his statement, "Does that mean…?"

"See, I was talking to Rodney and he was mentioning how _Bonnefoy's _wouldn't be very a fitting name if there wasn't actually a Bonnefoy there…besides, papa loved the place and so did we so I decided to take him up on his offer."

He couldn't help but gape, "wait, so you're moving _here_? To _London_?"

Alfred nodded, "Yea! This way, if your brothers ever come around, I'll make they stop bugging you! I mean, I made you a promise, didn't I?" A grin, "get used to seeing me around, Artie, I have a feeling that I'll be here for awhile."


End file.
